“I’m exhausted, Freddy. I mean it. I feel the sweat running down my back. This suit is way to heavy for a warm day like this.” His helper, Deanna, a young woman, dressed as an elf, stood nearby, listening.  She wiped the perspiration from her neck with a hand towel. 

 “Maybe,” Freddy said, “but they’re paying you to wear it and be jolly. Stop complaining, you’re being well paid. Tonight, you’ll have a grand in your pocket.”

 “Yeah, that’s why I do this. But it’s never been this warm here this time of year.”

 Freddy, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, tapped his brother’s shoulder. “Time to get back to work, Santa. The line’s getting long again. I’ll give you a lift home when your shift is over.” He turned to go, but stopped. “Next year, pick a place like Chicago instead of Nashville.”

 Santa gave Freddy a dirty look. He hated the cold. He surveyed the line and noticed the many different faces, not at all like years past when they looked like, what? Americans, he decided. He’d been working as a mall Santa for twenty-five years now. Times change, he thought, and not always for the better.

 He waved the next child up and started his routine. “Ho-Ho-Ho, Merry Christmas young lady. What do you want for Christmas?” The little girl was shy. She was keeping him at arm’s length. He reached out for her and, with her parents’ encouragement, she finally got close enough so he could put her on his lap. “So, tell Santa what you want.”

 The child, who was four years old, started to cry. Santa looked at the parents who returned blank stares. The elf said, “I don’t think she speaks English.”

 “Great, that’s the only language I speak. Where do these people come from? And if they don’t speak English, why do they take their kids to see Santa Claus?”

 “I know just what you mean. Your last name has a southern European ring to it, right?”

 “That’s right. My grandparents came here from Europe in 1899.”

 The elf did her best to comfort the child. Then she walked over to the parents and said, “Do you speak English?”

 The husband answered in broken English that he did, but was still learning. “Santa wants to know what your little girl wants for Christmas,” the elf said.

 The man turned to his wife and said something in his native tongue. She nodded and pulled out a list with three items on it, written in their language. The elf took the list and walked back to Santa and the little girl. She said the words slowly and the little girl nodded, a tiny smile on her face now.

 Santa took the list from the elf and pointed to it. The girl giggled. Santa responded with a halfhearted Ho-Ho-Ho. He shifted her on his lap so the photographer could take the photo. That done, the girl ran back to her parents, who waved and walked away.

 “Was that so hard, Santa?” the elf asked.

 “It slows us down,” he said. “Every time we have to go through some pantomime, the line gets longer. My back is killing me.”

 The next child was from yet another country, different than the previous child. As the little boy walked up, Santa said, “Another one, here we go again.” The elf rewarded him with a look.

 “Did your grandparents speak English when they got here?” the elf asked. “I’m just curious.”

 Santa raised his hand, an objection of sorts. “Of course not, but they were different times.”

 The little boy approached Santa boldly, sat on his lap and, not waiting for Santa to ask what he wanted, told him. He spoke English, but in a way not typical for most Americans. Santa had a hard time understanding him. He sighed and nodded in agreement with whatever the boy said. He glanced at the boy’s parents and couldn’t help noticing they were beaming. The mother wore a headscarf. He sat for the photo with the boy and shooed him away.

 “Do you know what he was asking you for?” the elf asked.

 “Not really. I heard “America, I think.” I figured he wanted one of those Marvel Captain America things. Does it matter?”

 “I suppose not. He did say ‘America,’ but I think he was asking you to help his family stay here.”           

 “That’s what they all want, isn’t it?”

 “Like your grandparents, right?”

 Santa looked out at the long line and then glanced at his watch. He smiled at his assistant. “You’re something else, you know that, Deanna?” He rubbed his aching knees. “You’re making me think, not my strong suit. Not when I’m tired anyway.”

 The elf checked her tiny watch. “You have another two hours to promise little children their dreams will come true.”

 “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d hate you,” Santa said.

 “Yes, tired. Lucky for you your grandparents made the journey. You’d be too tired.”

 Santa laughed. A genuine laugh. “Please shut up.” He waved the next child over to him and did his best to smile. “Ho-Ho-Ho, what do you want for Christmas, young man?”