It was four days before Christmas, and no sign of snow in the air.
Everything in town lay still, as if Old Man Winter had forgotten the snow
everyone was wishing for.

Grampa and I were working at the department store. He was Santa Claus and I
was his helper. He did the ho-hoing and asked kids what they wanted for
Christmas. I was the candy-cane-and-present-passer-outer. Our hours were
from four until seven-thirty.

Grampa's beard was real. Some of the kids who tugged it were quite
surprised. It wasn't pure white, but it was bushy and full. When Grampa
ho-hoed, his stomach shook. He was Santa Claus, no question.
Most of the lap-sitters were under ten. They were pretty much alike, asking
for bikes, dolls, radios, games.

But one little girl was different. Her mother brought her up, and Grampa
hoisted her onto his lap. Her name was Tina. She was blind.
"What do you want for Christmas, Tina?" He asked.
"Snow," she answered shyly.

Grampa smiled. His eyes twinkled. "We'll see what we can do about that. But,
how about something for you, yourself? Something special?"
Tina hesitated, then whispered something in Grandpa's ear. I couldn't hear
her words, but I saw a smile creep over Grampa's face.
"Sure, Tina, " was all he said.

He took her hands in his and placed them on his cheeks. His eyes closed and
he sat there smiling as the girl began to sculpt his face with her fingers.
She paused here and there to linger, paying close attention to every wrinkle
and whisker. She seemed to be memorizing with her fingers the laugh lines
under Grampa's eyes and at the corners of his mouth. She stroked his beard
and rolled its wiry ringlets between her thumbs and forefingers. When she
finished, she paused to rest her palms on Grampa's shoulders.
He opened his eyes. They were twinkling.

Suddenly her arms flew out, encircling Grampa's neck in a crushing hug.
"Oh, Santa," she cried. "You look just like I knew you would-perfect, just
perfect."

As Tina's mother lifted her down from his lap, Grampa turned his head
towards me. He smiled, blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

That night when my grandmother came to pick us up, I watched her help Grampa
shift over from the Santa chair into his wheelchair. As she was positioning
his limp legs on the footrests, she said, "So, Santa, how was your day?"
He looked at me, then at Gramma, and pressed his lips together as he said
with a tiny smile, "Perfect. Just perfect."

Outside it began to snow.