My Big Break as the Second-Grade Santa

The Crepe Paper Santa of the Second Grade

We didn’t have a lot of Hollywood special effects in the elementary school auditoriums of my youth. Production value was measured in cardboard, tinsel, and how much Elmer’s glue the teacher could buy out of her own pocket. But in December of my second-grade year, none of that mattered. We were putting on the annual Christmas play, and the stakes felt higher than the star on top of the town tree.

The script was a simple one. Santa Claus was wandering through the woods, on a grand quest to find the perfect evergreen for a little girl. My only real line in the spotlight was a heavy, dramatic declaration: “I must find a tree for Alice… no, this one will not do.”

When it came time for auditions, there wasn’t a rigorous casting call. The selection process was based entirely on the physical realities of the student body. Being the fattest kid in the second grade carried its share of playground trials, but in December, it became my golden ticket. I was the undisputed, natural choice. I was nominated to play Santa Claus.

I took the role with the gravity of a Shakespearean actor. But a legendary performance requires a legendary costume, and that’s where Mama stepped in.

There was no budget for plush velvet or faux fur. Instead, Mama went to work with a few rolls of bright red crepe paper, some white cotton balls, and a whole lot of love and ingenuity. She measured, she cut, and she carefully fashioned a Santa suit entirely out of paper. To some, it might have looked fragile, but when I stepped into it, I felt like royalty.

On the night of the play, the stage lights were hot, and the auditorium was packed with parents, grandparents, and neighbors shifting in their folding chairs. I remember the crinkle of the red paper with every step I took across the stage. I remember looking at the row of my classmates—who were doing their best to stand perfectly still, playing the parts of the forest trees—and delivering my line with all the theatrical weight a seven-year-old could muster.

The other kids had store-bought outfits or bedsheet angel wings, but to me, my costume was the absolute best on that stage. It didn’t matter that a sharp breeze or a sudden spill could have ruined the whole thing. In that moment, wrapped in Mama’s handmade crepe-paper creation, I wasn’t just the big kid in class. I was Santa Claus, delivering a little bit of magic to everyone in the room.

Looking back, I realize the real magic wasn’t the play itself, or even the line I practiced until I said it in my sleep. It was a mother’s hands making sure her boy felt like a king on that stage, crinkling paper and all.