We were snuggled in bed together, whispering so my parents couldn’t hear. Me and Bubblegum, my pink teddy bear.
“Do you think Santa will bring me a new doll?” Bubblegum thought he would. I just wished he would hurry up and get here.
Finally it was the last day of school before Christmas vacation. We third graders were lined up against the wall, waiting to play kickball. A boy near the front of the line leaned toward the girl beside him. The girl turned to her right and passed the message along. By the time the message reached me, I was all ears. “Santa isn’t real.”
The message stopped with me. Santa? Not real? It couldn’t be true—could it?
“Is it true Santa’s not real?” I demanded when I got home.
Mom hesitated. Tears filled my eyes. “What’s the point of Christmas?” I asked.
Mom tried to explain that Santa represented the Christmas spirit—love and giving and helping others. What did I care? None of the magic I loved was real.
I went to bed that night clutching Bubblegum, the only thing I had left to hold on to.
The next day we boarded a plane for Florida—Mom, Dad, my brother, Matt, Bubblegum and me—to spend Christmas with my grandparents. We arrived late. I was half asleep as my dad carried me off the plane.
When I awoke Christmas Eve morning Bubblegum was missing.
“Mommy, Daddy!” I wailed.
Mom searched her luggage. Dad checked the rental car. Nothing. This was the worst Christmas ever. No Santa, no Bubblegum.
Dad called the airline. “They can’t make any promises,” he told me.
Once I would have asked Santa to bring Bubblegum home. Now I knew I had to depend on strangers at the airline. I’d never see my bear again. Mom tried to get my mind off Bubblegum by asking me to help wrap presents. I taped up a big box for Grandpa, the shiny paper covered in angels. Maybe an angel can fly Bubblegum home, I thought. Then I remembered angels were like magic. They must not be real either.
Late that afternoon Dad got a phone call and went out. He returned with Bubblegum in his arms. A strip of shiny silver was pinned to her chest. Flight wings.
“What happened?” I asked my dad. “How did she get those?”
“Bubblegum must have fallen under our plane seat as we de-boarded,” Dad said. “A flight attendant found her on the way back to Chicago. She personally delivered Bubblegum to customer service as soon as they landed and arranged to fly Bubblegum back from Chicago on Christmas Day. The pilots were in on it too. Bubblegum flew in the cockpit. That’s how she got her wings.”
A lot of people had gone out of their way for a lost pink teddy bear. I’m 23 now, and Bubblegum still sits on my bed. She reminds me of everyone who worked overtime to return her to me. Complete strangers working one of the busiest travel days of the year.
I didn’t need Santa for the spirit of Christmas to be alive and well. Angels are real. Bubblegum has the wings to prove it.
