By Mike DuBose

What I am about to tell you stuns most adults and causes most of my professional colleagues look at me in amazement. I am the president of six successful companies, and when I tell others that I have seen Santa Claus, they provide all types of explanations for how I “perceived” that I saw the ole man in red. I am also a psychologist, so I have spent much time trying to understand and explain to myself what really happened. One of my friends went so far as to call the occurrence a “hallucination.”

One of my companies, Research Associates, focuses on research in communities, businesses, and organizations. We determine what the problems are and how to solve them. Consequently, logic and reasonable explanations are very important in both my personal and professional lives. But Santa Claus, while very real in the eyes of children, becomes almost nonexistent in the adult world.

Every year, I think back to that time in December 1959 in Darlington, S.C. Darlington is a rural community that most folks know as the town of the Southern 500 car race or “on the way to the beach.” I was about nine years old when Santa Claus visited me.

The story begins with my trip to Lamar, S.C., to visit my grandparents. My grandmother took pride in cooking those good ole fashioned meals that, by today's standards, were quite unhealthy. She used fatback and all those good things that made food taste really great but probably were like putting tacks in your coffin! My siblings and I were excited about Christmas just like other children.

As we entered my grandmother’s home, the excitement built as we saw all of our relatives. It was the time of year where all the relatives came together, even though some of them disliked each other, and had a meal together. At least us kids thought that everyone was happy. My grandmother was the matriarch of the family and pretty much kept it together.

We ate and the children played games. We exchanged presents and then shot firecrackers, an annual event my father made popular with us. On the way home, the excitement grew as we anticipated the coming of Christmas and the gifts we would receive.

As we turned into our driveway, the adrenalin pumped into my body. I knew that within the hour I would go to sleep and the next time I awoke it would be to presents galore.

I convinced my mother to let me skip my bath and jump into the clean sheets, although you could see the smile on her face as she smelled the leftover scent of fireworks, and yes, a little turkey.

As I jumped into bed, all kinds of things were going through my head: a little fear from hearing the wind outside brush the azaleas against the window, anticipation of the night approaching, and thoughts of what I was about to receive the next morning.

But my current task was to calm down so I could go to sleep. I thought about the disappointment I had felt when a friend told me that there wasn't a Santa Claus and my frustration when my mother confirmed the bad news. I went to sleep with the knowledge that Santa didn't exist—“Santa” had been my parents all along.

As I fell asleep, I said a little prayer that my parents had taught me: “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” I then fell into a deep sleep.

I slept in a large room by myself, and at about 3 a.m. I was suddenly awakened with by the loud opening of presents in the next room. I thought to myself that my parents were getting ready for my Christmas. I sat up in bed, very alert and attentive, waiting for my parents to go to bed so I could spring into action. I was thinking about the gifts I was about to receive when it got very quiet. It was an eerie feeling that I had never experienced, but it was almost like the quiet before a storm. I was about to get out of bed when the sliding door to my bedroom opened. I lay in bed anticipating that I was about to see my mother, but to my absolute amazement, someone else walked in.

There he was.... Santa Claus! Just like the one I had read about and had seen at the end of the Christmas parade. I knew that this was a fake because my mother and friend had told me there wasn't a Santa Claus. With my eyes wide open, and with him about 30 feet away, I could see him in the dim light of my night light. But he went over to my television and cut the 60 watt light on, which illuminated the whole room so I could see really well. I played like I was asleep but kept my eyes open a crack to study this figure, beginning with his real white hair and perfectly-fitting uniform. I examined every aspect of his appearance looking for defects, but there were none to be seen. After turning on the lights, he made his way over to me. I trembled with fear—or was it shock, or excitement? I'm not sure, but what I was seeing was a pretty real-looking Santa Claus. Then I thought, “This must be someone my parents hired or perhaps one of them dressed up, but this sure is a good show!”

He made his way over to my bed and I peeked through the smallest crack in my eyes to study him. He smiled as he covered me up—I hadn't had time to do it myself since he had suddenly entered the room. The look that he projected could have only been made by a loving parent or someone who really cared about me. I could distinctly feel that this person’s warmth towards me went far beyond what a hired person could perform. He knew where everything was in my room and acted as if he was a member of the household, yet my observations confirmed that this wasn't any relative of mine and that hair was real—no fakes!

I followed him with my eyes as he exited the room, pulling the sliding door closed. I jumped up in bed and asked myself, “What was that?”

I was pretty upset by now. I'm not sure what emotions were occurring inside of me, but I was 110% awake and my blood pressure was off the meter. I wanted to jump out of bed and run outside but was too scared of what I might find, so I sat there in bed, not knowing what to do.

Then, to my astonishment, I heard someone walking around on top of my house. We didn't have insulation back then, so the audio was excellent. Then, to my further shock, I heard little tapping noises that sounded like.....well, deer on the roof. And there weren't just one or two! It was a good crowd of them out there. No, I didn't count nine like in the story and no, I didn't hear anything about Rudolf. But I knew that there was something going on my roof that wasn't usually there. As the footsteps on the roof got closer, the tapping increased. I could tell they were getting excited just like my dog did as I approached her.

Then, I heard laughter and the tapping began to move forward. I felt as though I was under a stagecoach and there was a herd of the horses over me. But this was no stagecoach. I began to realize that this was Christmas and that person who was on my roof was Santa Claus with his reindeer. I then heard the...yes...sled dragging across my roof. I could hear the reindeer pulling, but slowly the sound of tapping disappeared as if...yes...pairs were flying into the air! The last sound I heard was the sled dragging across my roof. That would have been a real feat to reproduce!

I shot out into the yard, to see only the beauty of the universe created by God and the stillness that only a night at 3 a.m. could contain. There was total quiet and no one to be seen. I ran around the house, anticipating that my relatives would be up to no good with big smiles on their faces, but saw no one. I scanned across my house but…no one. I looked on the neighbors' roofs, thinking I would see ole Saint Nick but…no one. Nothing! And no, I didn't hear that old “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

My heart was racing! Adrenaline was pumping! Goosebumps were jumping up all over the place! I couldn't explain what had just happened. But I knew one thing—I had just seen Santa Claus! I just stood there in awe. I waited in the cold for over 30 minutes, knowing that I would get another glimpse of the ole man in red!

I returned to the house and peeped in, not knowing what I would see. The presents lay there unwrapped. I had heard all the paper tearing earlier but there was none to be found. I peeked in my parents’ bedroom and they were fast asleep. The presents were insignificant now for what I had just seen and experienced was the greatest present God could have ever sent me! I never told anyone, nor did my parents ask me anything about the incident the next day.

My parents swear they never planned the event and the details would have been difficult, if not nearly impossible, to replicate: the reindeer on the roof, the sled dragging, the sounds leaving the roof, and my inspections once I arrived outside.

Did I see Santa Claus, that old jolly fellow dressed in red? Yes! Do I believe in Santa Claus? Yes! Can I give you a logical explanation of what happened? No! Did God send an angel to visit me that wonderful Christmas? I'm not sure. But one thing I do know: it happened!

Santa has never visited me since, but that visit will remain with me until my grave. I can vividly see the story in my mind even now. That Christmas was the greatest of them all. I am one of the few who have seen Santa and every year I tell my children this wonderful story. But I am not alone. Others have told me the same story as it happened to them!

Now, at 58 years old, I realize that my exciting visit was a gift from God. For many of us, Christmas is the celebration of an event that happened over 2,000 years ago. It is sometimes difficult to understand and just like my real story, it is difficult to believe. But for those of us with faith, it is something we believe in with all our hearts.

Merry Christmas everyone and may 2008 be filled with peace and happiness!

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Mike DuBose is a graduate of the University of South Carolina and a native of Darlington, S.C. and has lived in Irmo, S.C. for the past 30 years. He is president of Research Associate, Columbia Conference Center, and The Evaluation Group and has served as an administrator with seven state agencies, a private non-profit organization, and for two governors. He is also a former deacon at Saint Andrews Presbyterian Church, where he teaches Sunday school. If you have experienced a similar story, as others have reported to Mike, please e-mail him at www.mikedubose.com.

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