It was the one day each year he was no longer Frank. He was ‘Santa Gauze’ (and, variously, ‘Santa Balls’). All because of that one year, having lost most of his costume’s beard to the mice in the storage locker, he augmented the look with bandage and cotton balls from his first-aid kit. They never let him live it down.
The suit was, predictably, a size too small and had a faint whiff of mothballs mixed with last year’s spilled eggnog. But Frank was undeterred. Christmas spirit, after all, was about conviction. (And not getting convicted!)
The boat itself, a Stur-Dee 16 dory he’d restored himself, with a Seagull outboard motor that was more temperamental than a toddler at bedtime, was decorated with lights Frank had borrowed from the patio of Tom & Tammy’s Red Bay Bar, the riverside tavern at the foot of the local liveaboards’ pier 13. They dimmed whenever the engine coughed, as if trying to keep up appearances for the handful of gulls who happened to be watching.
With one hand on the wheel and the other waving vague greetings, Frank navigated his way past the anchored sailboats and the occasional paddleboarder who, upon seeing Santa on the water, nearly fell off from laughter. He greeted them all with a hoarse “Ho-ho-ho!” that sounded more at time like a cough or a seagull cackling, but the folks of Green Cove Springs were easy to amuse. After all, it wasn’t every day they saw a man in a Santa suit on a boat that could barely outpace a leisurely alligator.
He chuckled at his own predicament. What did they say about Florida? The place where Christmas means putting on shorts, avoiding sunburns, and, apparently, watching a sweaty Santa pilot a dinghy through a cove. This, he thought, was the kind of Christmas miracle you didn’t see in the Hallmark movies.
As he rounded the bend back toward the dock, the usual suspects from Red Bay were gathered with beer cans in hand, cheering him on like he was the Grand Marshal of the parade no one knew was happening. He could hear Old Joe shout, “You missed my house, Santa Gauze!” and someone else added, “Hey, Santa Balls! Next year, try a kayak!”
Frank just laughed, each time returning a little salute. If Christmas in Green Cove Springs meant being a sweaty Santa with a sputtering engine and a well-worn route around the marina and cove and City Pier, he was more than happy to oblige. Besides, Tammy promised a free round for his trouble – and in Frank’s book, that was worth a thousand milk and cookies.