“Hold it right there!” I froze mid-step, pinned by a blinding beam of light. The voice behind the flashlight echoed in the hospital stairwell. “What are you doing here?”

I tugged nervously at my hat. How would I get out of this jam? I knew I looked ridiculous—or worse, suspicious—in my Santa suit, complete with curly white beard, heavy black boots and ample padding to hide my decidedly un-Kris Kringle-like 21-year-old frame.

It was Christmas morning, just after midnight. I wasn’t looking for attention. The whole point of this get-up was to sneak into the hospital. It had seemed like a perfect disguise.

“I’m waiting,” the voice said. The flashlight lowered, and I could make out a scowling uniformed security guard, his left hand on his radio.

I had to tell him the truth. “It’s my wife. She’s in the surgical ward and...”

This was our first Christmas as husband and wife (we’d married just five months earlier). December 25 was also Carol’s birthday. I had our celebration all planned. Instead we’d ended up at the hospital.

Correction. Carol had been here for the past three days, recovering from an emergency appendectomy. Me? Thanks to Nurse Krause, who seemed to take particular glee in enforcing the rules, I’d been sent home every night at nine on the dot, when visiting hours were over.

I hated being separated from Carol, especially the night before Christmas. At home, staring at our humble tree, I remembered the Santa suit I’d worn for the holiday program at the school where I taught. That’s when I hatched a new plan.

I explained this all to the guard. “Come with me,” he said. He led me straight to the nursing station—and my nemesis. Nurse Krause took a long look at me, her posture as stiff as her starched uniform.

“Why, Santa,” she said, “you’re just in time. We’re about to give out the presents. Follow me.” Behind her was a laundry cart filled with toys. What choice did I have? First we went to Carol’s room. My wife stared at me in disbelief.

Then the three of us, Nurse Krause pushing Carol in a wheelchair and me pushing the cart, went from room to room in the pediatrics ward.

​​​​​​​I felt like a fraud. But the children—the few who were awake at that hour—gazed at me in wonder READ MORE