Pope John XXIII once wrote: "I have looked into your eyes with my eyes. I have put my heart near your heart."
At age 6 I tried to stand still as my mother helped button my coat and prepare my younger brothers and sister to venture out on a cold December evening in 1966. We were headed for the local fire hall where, once a year just prior to Christmas, the entire Herman community in Butler County was given the privilege of meeting Santa Claus.
My father was not at home that evening. I wondered where he could have been. Santa was taking time off from his busy schedule to meet with us -- why wouldn't my dad want to see this?
My older teenage sisters were assigned to be our chaperones, holding our hands and guiding us through the process. Each child would receive a special gift from Santa -- a brown paper bag filled with fruit, candy and, best of all, a coloring book and a box of crayons.
We arrived at the hall where a large group of children and parents had already gathered in anticipation of Santa's arrival. Once settled in our seats we were led in a prelude of Christmas carols, the last ending with the traditional "You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout, I'm telling you why. Santa Claus is coming to town."
Suddenly, the double doors at the back of the hall swung open and Santa magically appeared. He was full of energy, shaking a series of jingle bells attached to a leather strap that he must have removed from one of his reindeer on the way in. The only words he spoke were the familiar "Ho, ho, ho."
All eyes were on him as he worked his triumphant way through the crowd. I thought he might say something to the group, but my sister assured me that he was very busy during this season and could not take the time.
Without a word he went straight to his work, taking a position behind the long rows of tables lined with brown paper bags as far as my eyes could see. I waited in a long, curvy line of children that had formed to receive their gifts.
I wondered what I might say if Santa were to ask me a question. Had I really been good the past year? Did I deserve this gift and the other presents that he would surely deliver to my brothers, sisters and me in a few weeks?
The line moved quickly -- too quickly as I struggled to organize my thoughts. Then, all too soon, I was standing before him with an up-close view of the heart of this efficient process.
There were helpers nearby, but Santa himself was totally in charge. As he hastily turned with my gift in hand, our eyes met, and for a moment -- one brief moment -- time seemed to stop for me. My mind was working overtime to process what I saw.
I can remember thinking as my gaze passed beyond the large white beard and red rosy cheeks, "I know those eyes."
Santa then did something that broke the routine of his well-oiled assembly line. With a smile, he paused and reached his large, white-gloved hand across the table and gently placed it on my head. He then, very deliberately, handed me the gift.
I was unable to utter a sound so my sister said thank you for me, took my hand, and guided me from the table. As we walked away I looked back over my shoulder one last time to catch a glimpse.
Santa had immediately returned to the task at hand, but he glanced my way and our eyes met once again. He nodded his head and winked, as if to say: "Everything will be OK -- have a merry Christmas."
Time moved on. My siblings and I became adults with children of our own. My father passed away. I overheard someone say that my dad, for good or bad, often spent more time helping other people than his own family.
I believe that was true on occasion. My father was a conscientious, community-minded person. He had eyes that expressed kindness and often, when I had doubts about this world, gave me hope that as long as people cared for each other everything would be OK.
It was a simple truth played out before my eyes in 1966, and still true today.
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