(Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today on December 2, 1987)

The old man flicked open the cover of his pocket watch.

None of the excitement was there.  None of the anticipation.  “I’ve made the trip too many times,” he thought.

With an effort he pulled himself out of the chair.  His footsteps echoed heavily in the log stone corridor as he put on the heavy red coat.

With reluctance he pushed open the giant door to the workshop.  They were all there, looking at him expectantly.

He mustered a grin for them, but their eyes betrayed them. They knew something was wrong.

They were worried little elves.  Their spark was gone.  The Christmas eve excitement was missing.  Their faces were raised toward him in concern as he walked silently between them.

With a sigh he climbed into the sleigh.  He felt as though he had done this too many times for too many years.

Then he spotted the big red book with its columns for naughty and nice and a list of deliveries for each stop.

Somewhere inside he began to tingle.  He stroked the smooth leather cover of the book with reverence then placed it in the slot alongside the seat. 

He picked up the reins.  He could feel the color creeping into his cheeks.  The reindeer pawed nervously, anxiously.

Two of the elves dashed to open the massive doors.

He breathed it in, deep and long.  As it filled his lungs, it seemed to clear his mind of everything but the children, children who were waiting expectantly for his deliveries.  His face broke into a giant grin.

Although the temperature was well below freezing, he could feel warmth spreading across his face.  His listlessness had been replaced with restless anticipation.  Somehow his mission had been reaffirmed.  His face broke into a grin “Let’s goooo!” he yelled as he snapped the reigns above the reindeers’ back.

They didn’t need to be told twice. In unison all eight lept against their harnesses, throwing the jolly fat back in his seat.

The sleigh rocketed out of the workshop and into the darkness of the arctic night.  A cloud of snow rolled out from the thundering hooves and the hissing runners.

He adjusted the reigns in his hands, expertly steering the sleigh down the runway carefully prepared by the elves.

“Faster! Faster!” he cried as the wind rushed by.  A jumble of ice loomed up ahead, higher than a house.

Suddenly the thunder and hissing died away as the odd vehicle became airborne.

He circled back toward the castle and guided reindeer and sleigh into a breath-taking pass inches above the ground directly in front of the workshop’s still-open doors. 

As he flashed by he could see a row of rosy faces, their mouths open in awe.

Then he was gone.  A “Ho, Ho, Ho,” echoed away into the dark.  Two tiny elves struggle to close the door.  One shoved his elbow into the other’s ribs.  “I told you it’s be a Merry Christmas,” he said with a wink.