Hey, Christmas Guy

Day 82

“It’s a shame that man doesn’t like Christmas,” I say, the sarcasm lost on my children.

We’re talking about the “Christmas Guy” who lives on the main drag through town.  One drive up Montgomery Road in December and there’s no mistaking who I mean.

He pulls out holiday lights in October and spends the next two months decorating his yard to make a display to rival the Griswolds.

A two-story nutcracker stands on each side of a 12-foot round snowflake proudly stuck to the front of the house.  “And it blinks!” the boys like to remind me.  

Fourteen-inch wrapped packages hang from the tree branches.  Reindeer line the driveway.  Ribbons adorn the front door.   

“It’s like there was a fire sale at the North Pole,” I say.  “Where in the world does he find this stuff?” 

“Internet,” my husband answers. 

I’ve been thinking of the Christmas Guy and had him on our radar for the recipient of a random act.  With two kids home with a cold, it’s a perfect day to craft homemade holiday/thank you cards. 

F. writes, “Your house is awesome!”  He continues his review on the flip side of the card, “We love your house! It is really cool.” 

We attach a candy cane to the front of the envelope.  “Don’t you think there’s a Mrs. Christmas Guy?” F. asks.  A perfectly reasonable assumption, we tape a second.

I leave F. to rest at the house but take the other two boys with me to drop off our note. 

“Who wants to run it to the door?”   Only A. responds. 

“Be sure to tell him how much we love his house!” I say to A. before he hops out of the car. 

“I’m just going with ‘Merry Christmas’,” he says.  That works, too.

Angus knocks on the front door.  A gray-haired man answers.  A. hands him the cards.  Then, A. disappears into the house. 

“I’ll be right back,” I say to I. and jump out of the car and rush towards the front door.  I knock once, open the door and walk in.

“Hello?”  A. and the man walk towards me.  A. holds a plastic toy plane. 

“Sorry, that probably made you nervous,” he says to me.

“And there were teddy bears and trains and …” A. rattles off oblivious to the adult conversation happening over his head.    

The man decorates his house AND gives toys to kids who come to his front door?  He isn’t the “Christmas Guy,” he’s Santa!  Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!!!  Wait until we tell Chaz that Santa lives right here in Montgomery!!

We thank (wink, wink) the “Christmas Guy” and hurry back to the car to tell I. what happened. 

“I so should have delivered that one,” he says and smiles.