WHERE SANTA CAME FROM

*:*:*: WHERE SANTA CAME FROM  :*:*:*

Once upon a time, when the world was much younger, a very special child was
born.  He came to be known as Santa Claus, and he's loved and revered the
world over.

But the story begins even before then. In a quiet little village in a small
country lived a handsome young carpenter named Sandy Claus.  His wife was
named Tasha, and she was the most beautiful lady in the whole land.  Sandy
and Tasha were very happy together.  They never quarreled; they were respected
by their fellow villagers; they always had plenty of food to eat.

But there was one sadness in their lives, and it made their hearts ache.
They wanted desperately to have a little child.  But they'd never been able to.

Years passed, then passed again.  Sandy was elected mayor of the village.
Tasha became the best friend of all the children in the town.  But still they
had no child of their own.

Sandy's beard turned gray. Tasha began to have wisps of white in her hair.
And they knew that they had become too old to have children now.  Their dream
would forever go unfulfilled.

One night before they went to bed, Sandy looked up at the sky. Black clouds
moved ponderously across the stars.  "It's going to be a bad one," he said
solemnly.  And he latched the shutters firmly over the windows. As the night
wore on, the sky turned dark and wild. The wind moaned through the trees;
leaves skittered down the dusty road.

"This is a night of nights!" Sandy whispered to Tasha.  "It's enough to make
strong men weep!"

The rain pelted down against their thatched roof, drowning out his words. But
Tasha shared his fears, and clung close to him underneath their thick quilts.

The storm whipped about them hour after hour, as they tossed and turned
through the endless night.

Then, suddenly, the rain stopped.  The wind turned away.  All was quiet.
Sandy drew a deep breath.  Tasha uttered a silent prayer of thankfulness.

But the wail began again. Only this time it was different.  It didn't rustle
the thatches on the roof; it didn't wheeze around the corners of the house.
It was high and shrill -- and very lonely.

Tasha sat up in a bed, urgent. "It's a baby!" she said.  And she jumped out
of the bed and ran to the door of their hut.  There, on their doorstep, was
a little reddened baby wrapped in heavy blankets, soaked to the skin -- and
crying lustily.  She picked him up tenderly, held him to her breast, and
carried him to Sandy.  "A baby," she said softly.

They pulled the wet blankets off.  Attached to the baby's diaper was a note:
"I love this baby more than my life.  But disaster threatens!  I know you will
care for him as if he were your own.  LOVE HIM FOR ME!"  The note was not
signed.

Tasha held the baby's cheek against hers.  "Something horrible has happened
to your mother on this horrible night," she said.  "But we will love and
care for you, for HER. Forever!"

In the morning, Tasha and Sandy had the first and last argument of their
marriage.  "We'll name the baby after me," Sandy announced at the breakfast
table. "We'll call him Sandy."

Tash looked up sharply. "No," she said.  "I've waited so long.  We will call
him Tash, after me."  "It will be Sandy." Sandy said again. his voice rising
louder.  "No! Tash!" Tasha answered, her voice even louder.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, avoiding glances, refusing to
speak. Then the baby began to cry, and Tasha went to care for him.  Sandy
slammed the door when he left the hut to go to work.

All day long Tash thought of the problem.  "We both love this baby -- but
we love each other too.  I was wrong.  We should name him Sandy.

And all day long Sandy thought of the problem, as he sawed and hammered his
wood.  "I love Tasha more than myself," he thought.  "I've been so wrong.
We'll name him Tash.

When he went home that night, Tasha met him at the door.  "We'll name him
San--" she started to say but Sandy interrupted:  "Tash," he said.

Then they looked at each other and laughed.  "Santash?" Sandy said.  "What
kind of a name is that?"  "No kind of name for our son," Tasha said.  "Why
don't we name him Santa, after both of us?"

Santa was a good boy, helpful to his mother and obedient to his father.  He
made friends quickly as he grew, and soon he was the favorite among his
fellows.

But the adults in the village were worried.  "His ears are a little pointed,"
said one.  "I'll bet he has some elf blood in him."  "I don't trust him,"
said another.  "Never trust half-elf, that's what I always say."  "His cheeks
are too rosy," gossiped a third.  "Just like an elf's!"

When Santa walked into the village, the people called him names, and were
rude to him.  "Don't come near me, Elf-boy.  I don't want your evil magic
around me!"  "Get away from here, Imp!"  "Don't you dare look at me with your
elvish evil-eye, you point-eared twit!"

More than once, Santa ran home crying to his mother.  "I'm sorry," Tasha
said.  "I'm sorry."  And she stroked his golden hair.

When he grew older, Tasha explained: "People are foolish," she said.  "They
fear elves because elves are different.  But just looking in your face I can
tell they are wonderful people."

While the adults were being mean, the children were becoming Santa's friends,
more and more. They didn't care that his ears pointed a little; and they
didn't care that his cheeks were rosy.  All they knew was that he was a
loving friend, and they loved him back.

When Santa became a man, he moved away from the village to another land,
far away.  He became a famous carpenter, with the kings and princes coming
to him for carpentry work.

But everywhere he went he saw meanness.  People beating their children.
Drinking or gambling away their money while their children went hungry.
Buying a fine new horse or carriage while their children wore rags.

Of course, most parents were wonderful with their children.  But when Santa
saw the mean ones, he wept.  And he remembered how his friends had loved
him as a boy, when all the adults were horrible.  "I must help these poor
children," he said to himself.  And he began to save his money.

On the next gift-day, Santa took special gifts to all the poor children and
left them in secret during the night.  The next day the whole town was alive
with talk of the miracle that had happened: some mysterious being had left
gifts for many, many children in the night.  Santa smiled to himself.  And
he felt happier than he ever had before.

The next year, Santa gave out even more gifts and the following year he gave
still more.  And he noticed that the people in the town began to change.  No
one knew who was giving the gifts -- so everyone was kind to everyone else.
"My wicked neighbor might be the generous one, in secret," each of the
townspeople thought.  "I'd better treat him much better."  They were nicer
to their children, too.  "If someone thinks they're that special," they
thought, "I should be kinder to them."

Before long, Santa was giving gifts to every child in the town.  "I want
every one of them to feel loved, by someone," he wrote in a letter to Sandy
and Tasha.  "I want every one of them to have as much love as you gave me."

As Santa gave more and more, he wanted to share with even more children.  He
wanted to give to every child in the land, and in the neighboring land, and
in all lands beyond that.  And, over the years, he's been able t do just that.

Now the little boy who was left on the doorstep in the storm, the little boy
who was half-elf, ridiculed by the people in his town -- now that little boy
is a man.  Now he's Santa Claus, the most famous, most loved man in the
whole world!



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