To Sing Frogs Chapter 34b

“Papa, Aye neede see Santa Claas.” It was a week after I returned from the Far East and several days after watching Schindler’s List. Amy and I were preparing for a big holiday family dinner that was scheduled to be at our house.

“Sorry, Princess. I need to help Mama with dinner for tomorrow.”

“We goe Santa tomorrow?”

“No, Sarah. Tomorrow everybody is coming to our house.” It wasn’t going to get better. I could think of various commitments that would delay our visit for almost a week. Things are busy with seven kids, three of them adapting to a new family and culture.

“We goe Santa tomorrow-tomorrow?” Kids sure are inventive when it comes to language.

I was preparing my dissertation on how it would be at least a week, but I would promise—without committing to a date—that we would get her to see Santa before Christmas. Amy spoke up. “Why don’t you take her to the mall, Sweetheart. I’ll be okay.”

“Papa, Aye neede-neede SEE SANTA CLAAS!”

“Just a minute, Sarah!” I said sharply. Then I turned back to Amy. “I want to help you finish up. There’s still a lot to do.”

“I’ll be fine. The boys will help me. Sarah needs some time with you. She’s been wound up for Christmas ever since her birthday. Take her to the mall if you really want to help me,” she chuckled.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll be fine. Take her to the mall.”

I asked Sarah what she was going to request from Santa as I buckled her into the booster seat. She refused to tell me. I wondered if it was a Russian superstition that you would spoil the wish if you spoke it. Sarah had been familiar with Dyehd Morose and Snegúrochka Grandfather Frost and the Little Snow Girl—who the communists used to replace St. Nicolas. They had to do something when they murdered the father of Christmas and the patron saint of children. The new imaginary characters brought candy and perhaps a couple of small gifts to Russian children for New Years. Still, they were more on the level of the American Easter Bunny. Nothing compares to the grand, majestic, all-seeing, all-knowing Santa Claus who not only brings presents but fulfills children’s wishes.

Sarah was quiet on the way to the mall. She didn’t want to talk. Her friends at school and her brothers had been bombarding her with Christmas traditions and particularly with information about the “wise-old elf.”

Even her birthday had been overwhelming. I recalled watching her play with her new treasures after presents had been unwrapped and candles blown out. “What did you do for your birthday in Russia, Sarah,” I asked. I had naively thought she might have received a few pieces of candy and had a song sung to her.

My daughter looked at me curiously before answering. “Papa, een Rosha, Aye no hav birfdey.”

Now we were rushing toward the wizard of gifts and giving. Santa Claus. My mind tried to imagine what my daughter could wish for that she didn’t already have.

Christmas music played as we entered the mall, enticing shoppers to buy. In the spirit of new holiday traditions it was weakly void of words, lest anyone be offended in our fanatically “politically correct” society. Sarah held my hand and dragged me forward with determination even though she didn’t know which way to go. I had to correct her direction several times as she ignored the grand marketing presentations. Sarah was on a mission.

Curiously, there was no line when we arrived at the chair where the old man with a natural white beard sat. Sarah, who had been fearlessly dedicated only seconds before, was now just a little bit timid. I stepped forward. “Hello Santa Claus. This is Sarah. We adopted her in Russia last spring. She hasn’t visited with you before.” Then I whispered. “I have no idea where this is going.”

The man in red winked at me and held out his white-gloved hand. “Hello, Sarah, would you like to sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?”

Without responding my daughter stepped forward and climbed up on the old man. Before he could say anything she spoke sternly. “Santa Claas, wy yoo neever com to see mee weyn Aye leeve at Rosha?”

The twinkle left his eyes, which widened as he looked to me for help. I didn’t know what to do either. My mind rushed for a solution while hoping he could come up with a satisfactory explanation.

Come on, Santa Claus, come on! Wait! I know! You couldn’t get a visa… You lost your passport… You and Rudolph were shot down over North Korea and spun in, narrowly escaping death by landing in a snow bank…

For the wise old elf, honesty was the best policy. He bowed his head and spoke softly and sincerely. “I’m sorry I never came to your house in Russia, Sarah. I’ll bring you presents this year. Would that make you happy?”

“Yeas…” she responded without committing.

Santa continued before she could take charge again. “What do you want for Christmas, Sarah? Why did you come to see me today?”

“Aye wahnt yoo taek preesents foor mye frends een Rosha!”

Santa gasped and shock filled his eyes. Before he could respond it got worse. “Aye wahnt yoo taek mama ee papa foor Yula.”

I blew out lungs-full of air like I’d been punched in the stomach. Santa looked up at me hoping he had misunderstood. No such luck. Tears left my eyes as I spoke. “Yula is one of her best friends at the orphanage. Sarah wants you to take parents to her.”

The old man lost it. Tears left his eyes and hid themselves in his thick white beard. “Oh Sarah!” he said, his voice shaking. He looked back at me for an answer. I didn’t have one. The old man was left to the response he must have learned during the first day of Santa-school: “I’ll see what I can do, Sarah.”

“Waht?”

The not-so-jolly old elf tried to respond but he couldn’t talk.

“Waht, Papa? Waht heem saye?”

“He said he will try, Sarah.” There was nothing left to say.

 

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