The Last Christmas: A Mall Santa's Bittersweet Farewell

Well, here I am, folks. Another holiday season, another year of playing the jolly old elf at this fading Midwestern mall. But this one feels different. You see, they’re closing the place down after New Year’s. Thirty years of ho-ho-hoing, of watching kids grow up, of being the one constant in a world that’s changed more than I care to remember. And now, it’s all coming to an end. I look around at the empty storefronts, the peeling paint, the echo of my own footsteps, and I can’t help but feel a sense of melancholy. It’s not just a job, it’s a part of me, a part of my life. And like the mall, I feel like I’m being left behind, a relic of a bygone era. The world is moving on, and I’m not sure I’m ready to go with it. But hey, that’s life, right? Change happens, whether we like it or not. And as much as it hurts, I’ve got to keep putting on that red suit, that fake beard, and that smile. Because the kids still believe, and that’s what matters most. Even if it’s just for a little while longer.

I’ve been doing this gig for three decades now, and I’ve seen it all. The rise and fall of stores, the changing of generations, the slow decline of this once-bustling shopping center. I used to love it, you know. The excitement, the energy, the pure joy on the kids’ faces when they saw me. But over the years, that joy has been replaced by a sense of duty, a need to keep the magic alive, even if it’s just a facade. The mall’s not what it used to be, and neither am I. My body aches, my mind wanders, and my heart feels heavier with each passing day. But I keep going, because that’s what Santa does. He brings hope, even when there’s none left. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what I need to do for myself. Find a glimmer of hope in the darkness, a reason to keep going, even when everything seems to be falling apart.

It’s not just the mall that’s dying, though. It’s the whole idea of the American dream, the consumerism, the commercialization of Christmas. I’ve watched it all from my perch in the center court, a silent observer to the slow erosion of something that once meant so much to so many. And now, it’s all coming to a head. The final curtain call. The last Christmas. And I’m not sure how to feel about it. Part of me is relieved, ready to hang up the red suit and retire to a quiet life with my wife, Cindy. But another part of me is terrified. What will I do without this? Who will I be without Santa? It’s a question that haunts me, that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the future holds. But I guess that’s the thing about change. It’s scary, it’s uncertain, but it’s also necessary. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to embrace it.

You know, it’s funny. When I first started this job, I was full of energy, full of life. I loved every minute of it, from the early morning setup to the late-night takedown. But over the years, that energy has slowly drained away, replaced by a sense of resignation, a feeling that I’m just going through the motions. The kids are different now, too. They’re more cynical, more jaded, more aware of the world’s problems. They don’t believe in the magic like they used to. And who can blame them? The world is a mess, and it’s hard to keep the faith when everything seems to be falling apart. But still, I try. I try to be the best Santa I can be, to bring a little bit of joy, a little bit of wonder, into their lives. Because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Making a difference, no matter how small. And even if it’s just for a few minutes, even if it’s just a fleeting moment, it’s worth it.

I worry about Cindy, too. She’s been my rock, my anchor, through all of this. But she’s not getting any younger, and neither am I. We’ve been through so much together, and I’m scared of what the future holds. What if she gets sick? What if I can’t take care of her? What if we end up alone, forgotten, just like this mall? It’s a fear that gnaws at me, that keeps me awake at night, that makes me question everything. But I push it down, I bury it deep, and I keep going. Because that’s what you do when you love someone. You fight for them, you protect them, you do whatever it takes to keep them safe. And that’s what I’ll keep doing, no matter what. Even if it means playing Santa one last time, even if it means saying goodbye to a part of myself that I never knew I’d miss so much.

So here I am, on the eve of my last Christmas as Santa. The mall is quiet, the lights are dim, and the air is thick with the weight of years gone by. But I’m still here, still standing, still trying to make a difference. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. Maybe the magic isn’t in the mall, or the presents, or the commercialization. Maybe it’s in the small moments, the fleeting connections, the shared smiles and laughter. Maybe that’s what Christmas is really about. And if that’s the case, then I’ll keep believing, keep hoping, keep spreading joy, even if it’s just for one more year. Because in the end, that’s all we can do. Keep going, keep fighting, keep loving, no matter what. And that’s a message I think we all need to hear, especially now. So from me to you, Anonymous, have a Merry Christmas, and may the new year bring you hope, peace, and a little bit of magic. Because we all need it, now more than ever.