‘The Reluctant Elf’

“I can’t! I’m not old enough, and I’m a girl!”

“Never say ‘can’t’, Chelsea. And girls can do everything boys can do. Who says girls can’t be elves? I need your help.”

My dad is never home early on Christmas Eve. He comes in late dressed in a Santa suit, carrying the cold inside, sometimes brushed with snow. He brings home other Santas and elves for cookies and hot cider. They all belong to CAP (Christmas Aid Program), which surprises needy families at Christmas. They laugh and say, “We’ve already had our Christmas!”

This year, because of the heavy snow, Dad said, “Chelsea, I need your help tomorrow. Charlie and his boys can’t get off their hill, and Frank slid into a ditch. We’re going to have to do two routes, and I have no elf.”

“But I won’t know what to do! The elf suit won’t fit!” I thought of a million reasons it would be safer to be home on Christmas Eve.

“Just follow my lead. You’ll be fine.”

So I reluctantly agreed. On Christmas Eve morning, I was dressing in candy-striped leggings, green shorts and frock coat, striped sweater, red vest, curly blue wig, rosy cheeks and make-up freckles, granny glasses, elf hat and my ugly white boots (no elf shoes in the snow). I can’t tell you how silly I felt! Halloween in December!

We started early morning because we were doing two routes, and it was snowing again. At the first stop, Dad read from a clipboard: “Davis, purple tags, seven gifts.” Dad and I crawled into the back of the van, found the seven and carried them through the snow to the front porch.

“Do they know we’re coming?”

“One person does. The rest will be surprised.”

At first, I was shy and just held packages. By the third house, I stopped worrying about making mistakes. By the fifth house, I was having fun bringing so much joy.

“Where do the gifts come from?” I asked Dad, as we sat in the warm van by the side of the road, watching the snow cover the windshield, eating the lunch Mom had packed. Often people in cars glanced our way, laughing to see Santa and his elf. Many honked and waved.

“Department stores donate winter coats, blankets, warm clothes, slippers and pajamas. Groceries give food. Toy stores donate toys and book stores give books. With the money we get from generous people, we buy bikes.”

“How do we know what they need and their sizes? How do we know their names?”

“We have a spy for each house. Usually, it’s the person who suggested them to us….sometimes a grandparent, sometimes a neighbor or friend. Lunch finished. Back to work,” he said.

But it wasn’t work. It was magical. I wasn’t Chelsea anymore but an elf helping Santa bring Christmas. The last house was the worst and the best because I knew one of the boys. Ryan Brewer was in my class. I was afraid he would recognize me, but he didn’t look my way. His father was on crutches, and his mom was very thin. He had five brothers and sisters. The house was really cold, but a small Christmas tree glowed from the corner. His mom cried when we gave her the basket of food, and his father shook our hands. “This is the best Christmas ever,” he said. “Bless you.” All the little kids hugged us, except Ryan who suddenly got very busy playing with their cat.

“That boy is in my class,” I said to Dad on our way home. “He’s kind of a bully.” I had a feeling I wouldn’t be angry with him anymore.

“You must be really cold,” Mom said as she handed me hot cider. But I was glowing inside. When Dad said he’d already had his Christmas, I understood what he meant.

Special thanks to Veronica Walsh for her illustration. To see more of her work, visit veronicawalsh.net.

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