By Mike DuBose
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to comprehend what really happened the night that I saw Ole Saint Nick. When I share my experience with friends and psychologist colleagues, they provide all types of explanations for how I “perceived” that I saw him. Santa Claus, while very real in the eyes of children, becomes almost nonexistent in the adult world—but what I saw that night in 1959 remains clear in my memory many decades later.
My grandparents lived in Lamar, SC and on Christmas Eve, we went to visit them and enjoy some of my grandmother’s good old-fashioned cooking that would kill most people today. My excitement over Christmas grew as we entered her home. It was the time of year when all the extended family members gathered, even though some of them disliked each other.
On the way home, I convinced my mother to let me skip my bath and jumped into clean sheets, although you could see her smile as she caught lingering scents of fireworks and turkey. At 3 am, loud sounds from the next room roused me. I sat up in bed, very alert and attentive. I was about to get out of bed when the sliding door to my bedroom opened. There he was . . . Santa Claus. Of course, my initial thoughts were that this had to be fake, though, because I had been disappointed when told that Santa Claus didn’t exist by friends and relatives.
With my eyes wide open, and with him about 30 feet away, I could see him in the dim glow of my nightlight. Then, he turned on the table’s 60-watt lamp, which illuminated the room. I played like I was asleep but kept my eyes open a crack to study this figure, beginning with his real-looking white hair and perfectly fitting uniform. I searched every aspect of his appearance for defects, but there were none to be seen. He made his way over to my bed as I peeked at him through my nearly-closed eyelids. The warmth that this person projected could only have come from someone who genuinely cared about me as if he was a loving family member. It went far beyond what a hired Santa actor could perform. He knew where everything was in my room.
Then, he left and minutes later, to my astonishment, I heard someone walking around on top of my one-story house. (We didn’t have insulation back then, so the sound quality was excellent.) Then, I heard little tapping noises that sounded like . . . well, deer on the roof. It was a good crowd of them up there. As the footsteps on the roof moved towards them, the tapping quickened with excitement.
I felt as though I was under a stagecoach and there was a herd of horses over me. This was Christmas, and I thought, “That person on the roof was Santa Claus with his reindeer.” Moments later, I could hear the reindeer pulling the sled, but slowly the sound of tapping disappeared as if they were flying from my roof two by two into the air. The last sound I heard was the sled dragging across my roof.
I immediately bolted out into the yard and saw only the quiet beauty of God’s universe and the stillness that comes in the pre-dawn hours. The sky was perfectly clear. I ran around the house, anticipating that I would find my grinning relatives up to no good, but I saw no one.
My heart was racing and goosebumps were jumping up all over the place. I couldn’t explain what had just happened. I stood awestruck in the cold for another 30 minutes, hoping to catch another glimpse, but saw nothing. I returned to the house and peeped in, not knowing what to expect. I no longer cared about my presents—what I had just experienced was a gift from God. I didn’t tell anyone what I saw that night, nor did my parents say anything about it the next day. When I asked them about the incident years later, they swore they never planned it. All of those minute details combined would have been impossible for humans to replicate themselves: the perfectly-dressed Santa, the tapping reindeer hooves, the sled dragging, leaving methodically from the roof.
Even now, questions abound. Did I see Santa Claus, that old jolly fellow dressed in red? Yes. Do I believe in Santa Claus? Yep. Can I give a logical explanation for that night? Absolutely NOT. Dr. John Roseman would call me: “Just plain nuts.” Did God send an angel to visit me that wonderful Christmas Eve? I’m not sure. The one thing I do know is that it happened.
Santa has never visited me since, but I will cherish that one night—the greatest Christmas Eve of all—until my grave. At 74 years old, I can still see him vividly and hear the hoof taps in my mind. I’m one of the blessed few who have seen Santa, and it’s a wonderful Christmas story. Other people living in other parts of the world reading my story on-line have shared with me the exact same story.
Christmas has many meanings for people from different religions and the secular world. To Christians, it’s a celebration of an event that happened over 2,000 years ago—the birth of our savior Jesus Christ who eventually died for our sins and provides a gift to a wonderful ever-lasting life in Heaven far beyond our wildest imaginations.
Just like my Santa story, Christianity is difficult to understand. Regardless of your spiritual faith, it’s a time of the year when we should be thankful for our blessings and forgive those who have wronged us (living and dead). As we prepare to enter another year, resolve to display the Fruits of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, control, goodness, and kindness—and to have a little more faith in miracles.
Visit my non-profit www.mikedubose.com for the detailed story.
