The Christmas Train

The whistle blew loudly as the train pulled through the mountains behind my house on Christmas Eve. I had anticipated the sound all year long. I waited and listened as the chug-a-chug-chug of the engine slowed down behind the mountains and came to a stop at the tiny train station. The conductor called out “Merry Christmas” as children ran to their windows to see the pudgy man with snow-white hair dressed in a whimsical red suit exit the beautiful engine.

The train had arrived to the small coal miner town, where Christmas would not happen if it weren’t for the generous man we all called Santa. Every year he came to our town in a shiny black and red engine, festively decorated with holly, and Christmas wreaths and filled with toys and gifts for the children.

I ran to my parent’s bedroom, excited more than ever, Christmas had come. Hopping on their bed to wake them up I cried, “He’s here, he’s here!” They yawned and stretched, pretending they were too tired to go anywhere. “Let’s go!” I yelled, and ran back to my bedroom window to watch the magic unfold.

My breath formed ice crystals on the window and a light snow fell outside. It will be a white Christmas this year, I thought as I watch parents move from their houses making their way to the train. There was a rule that I despised and that was no children could leave and go meet him, but I wanted to. He had always made my Christmas, one year I got a wooden yo-yo and some other things, but the thing I remembered was that the yo-yo brought me hours of entertainment until I lost it.

This year though, I had devised a plan, I would leave to go meet the man, this Santa Claus. I watched from my perch as my parents left and then ran to my closet pulled my boots over teddy bear footed pajama’s and grabbed my coat, I was going on a mission. My flashlight sat on my tall oak dresser; I reached for it and ran down the hall to the stairs.

Once outside my home, I crept to the back to watch the scene unfold, boxes were being handed to parents, and several “Ho, Ho, Ho’s” could be heard from the conductor. I ran took my sled and slid down the hill making a quick decent. From there I watched for parents and snuck behind houses and fences, the town was sparse, and I didn’t have much more to hide behind as I made my way to the train station.

I made my way closer and closer, until I could see him more clearly and closely. I hid until all the parents had gone, and then I walked around the station and watched him as he made his way back into the engine. “Santa” I called to get his attention. He turned back to look at me, his eyes following me top to bottom. Stepping down from the engine he came toward me, big black boots clunked as he walked toward me. “What is a youngster like you doing out here in the cold, shouldn’t you be in bed?” He asked.
“I wanted to see you,” I said to him.
“Ah, well you have, now run along, Christmas is almost here and your parents will be waiting. But first tell me you name.”
“Johnny.”
“Johnny, what a lovely name. Now I must be going, I’m Santa you know, I have more presents to deliver. But since you’re here,” He dug around in his pockets until he found something, “I thought you might like this Johnny.” Pulling a wooden yo-yo out of his pocket he handed it to me. I stared in disbelief; it was just like the one I had lost. My mitten-clothed hand grasped the yo-yo tight.
“Thank you Santa,” I smiled and called as he made his way to the engine.
“Merry Christmas Johnny.”
“Merry Christmas Santa.” I ran back home as fast as my feet would carry me, clutching the yo-yo and treasuring it.

That Christmas was wonderful, the conductor we called Santa, was an old man who gave gifts in the spirit of Christmas. I know now that the true meaning of Christmas isn’t Santa or gifts. It is about the birth of Christ, and now I teach my children that. And each year on Christmas Eve, after celebrating the birth of our savior, we wait in anticipation for the Christmas Train to arrive, to bring Christmas to our small coal-mining town.