Savage Words: You have to go Leprechaun hunting this week
When I became a dad nearly 20 years ago, I read something that’s stayed with me ever since.
There are three phases in every man’s life:
When you believe in Santa Claus.
When you don’t believe in Santa Claus.
When you become Santa Claus.
I read that to a buddy of mine who had become a dad just a year earlier.
“No doubt about it,” he said. “The best one of those three is the last. It’s a blast being Santa.”
He was right. I loved being Santa. In fact, I took the practice to a whole new level when my daughter was growing up.
It wasn’t just Christmas for me. The Easter Bunny would sometimes make his mark in the spring with paw tracks, Cupid sometimes showed up in February, and an occasional Leprechaun made its way to our house in March.
Every October, we drove ‘Spook Road’ near Brandon, looking for ghosts and goblins. There was a time when ‘Spook Road’ on Brandon’s south side was a supposedly notorious place to look for hauntings. People came from all over to drive it. It’s not nearly what it used to be. If you don’t believe me, just Google “Spook Road in Brandon, SD.”
I sort of felt bad about all of the holiday shenanigans with Isabella over the years. After all, I was flat-out lying to my daughter, but it was so much fun heaping the magic of childhood on her while she still sucked up that magic at a young age.
Santa was an easy one. Despite the frustrations of trying to put together a playset at midnight on Christmas Eve where Peg A didn’t fit into Hole A, the payoff was magical the following morning. The half-eaten cookie on the plate, the half empty glass of milk near the cookie, and footprints from Santa’s big boots were not uncommon sights in our house. Isabella’s face lit up when she saw those.
An occasional bow and red arrow with hearts tied to it could be found in our house or yard in February. After all, Cupid had stopped by when we weren’t at home. Every time we’d find one, Isabella’s stories just came with it.
St. Patrick’s Day is fast approaching this weekend, and the holiday always reminds me of some of the most fun I had with Isabella when she was young. There were plenty of times every March where she and I went Leprechaun hunting at various spots in the city.
When she was at school before I picked her up, I’d put little clues around some trees at a nearby park. The clues were always set around a patch of clovers that I’d seen days earlier. They included shamrocks on the ground that I made out of green construction paper. I also bought green and gold glitter from a hobby store and sprinkled it around the tree. Clovers, green shamrocks and glitter? Yea, those were three obvious signs that a Leprechaun had been there recently.
One time on the way back from the park, I got ahead of Isabella by about 20 feet. I ran in the house and threw the glitter on the floor before she got in.
“Isabella,” I said with excitement. “Look! The Leprechaun was in the house!”
Great effect, but it was a nightmare cleaning it all up for the rest of the night.
I took the ‘three phases of every man’s life’ to heart. I played them up, and enjoyed every second.
If you’re a parent of a little one, soak it up and squeeze every ounce out of every second while you can. As many of you know, it goes way too fast.
Never forget the three phases:
When you believe in Santa Claus.
When you don’t believe in Santa Claus.
When you become Santa Claus.
As I’ve grown older and my daughter is now a college freshman, I’ve realized there should be a fourth phase added to that list.
When you’re no longer Santa Claus
For as much as I loved phase No. 3, I hate phase No. 4.
