50+ Lifestyles

Just Saying…

By Q.C. Jones

Editor’s note: QC Jones has been revisiting his articles in 50+ Lifestyles over the years for a book he is almost finished with called “John Wayne, Davy Crocket, and Me” which will include expanded versions of previous articles. He found a “whole bunch” of Santa inspired articles, so he decided to pull quotes from those articles for a “best of the worst” sort of article about Santa. Everything in quotes is a quote from a previous December article or 50+ Lifestyles.

Santa & QC: A Lifetime on the Edge of the Naughty List

Your pal QC has spent a lifetime tip-toeing between Naughty and Nice. For me, Santa Claus isn’t just a holiday thing, he’s the source of lifelong worry. I spent my childhood avoiding Santa’s Naughty list.

My earliest memory of the Man in Red involves strategic paranoia. I wrote before, “As a youngster, I imagined Santa positioned just outside the window. Fighting the early winter chill… he took copious notes of my not so good behaviors.” That raises questions: privacy concerns, constitutional violations. When you’re six years old and prone to mischief, you don’t quibble with surveillance methods, you hide.

I fortified the house. I “stuffed the skeleton key holes… with tissues” and “surreptitiously visited the shades pulling them down past the sash.” My parents thought I was tidy. In truth, I was conducting counterintelligence operations against a fat, bearded elf.

The Fourth Grader Who Broke the Universe

Every hero’s story includes a dark moment. Mine arrived courtesy of a fourth grader named Ricky. A kid who, even then, “looked like the type who would end up on the wrong side of Santa’s ledger.” He leaned in during a school assembly and whispered: “There is no Santa. Just ask anyone older.”

I sweated through the rest of the day like Frosty in a sauna. But even at seven, I had the mind of an investigative journalist. I marched straight to the courthouse square, home of Santa’s home office and confronted the Jolly One. I asked the only question that mattered: “Are you real?”

He laughed, jiggled, and replied: “Do I look real to you? Don’t believe everything you hear.” Case dismissed. Ricky was “as full of it as a Christmas Goose.” Santa lived on.

The Christmas Pageant Incident of ’62

Not every Santa experience was straightforward. Sometimes, I faced sad imposters.

Take the legendary Christmas Pageant at Calvary Baptist Church. I described it once like this: “Excitement filled the room and grownups and kids alike went wild as Santa crossed the platform.” But something didn’t add up. Santa sounded suspiciously like my dad. Walked like him too. And his nose… well, let’s say it bore the unmistakable imprint of college football before the invention of face masks.

Even as a kid, I knew: “This Santa was different.” Turned out my father was standing in for Santa due to scheduling conflicts. I accepted the explanation. But I also mentally noted that unauthorized impersonation of Santa should carry at least a misdemeanor charge.

Grandpa “Red” Antle and the Eagles Lodge Connection

If anyone anchored my belief, it was Grandpa Antle.

A man’s man. A card player. And a crucial detail, he was a documented associate of Santa Claus. As I wrote in another December column: “I know Santa exists. He was good friends with my grandpa… I once heard Santa comment, ‘Hey Red… you’re coming down to the Eagles later tonight for the card game.’” If Santa arranges his social calendar around your grandfather, doubt no longer plays a role in your mind. That’s gospel truth.

The Great Santa Candy Conspiracy

Small-town Santa appearances followed a pattern. He showed up unannounced, “HoHoHo-ing all the way to the front,” carrying bags of indestructible, dentist-endorsed Christmas candy. As I described: “This special candy only appeared at Christmas and it was amongst the hardest variety of molten sugar on the planet.” We loved him anyway. Children are forgiving, especially when bribed with candy wrapped in aging wax paper.

A Santa in the Basement

Years later, while rummaging in the basement, I rediscovered a tiny Santa figurine — the same one that once lived in my grandmother’s alteration shop. Seeing it triggered a memory avalanche: “I came face-to-face with a plastic tote full of Christmas decorations… and in amongst the mishmash… I spied an ancient Santa.”

That unassuming decoration had witnessed decades of December magic. It also served as a reminder that belief isn’t a one-time choice. It’s a habit, just like eating too many Christmas cookies or pretending to like the socks from Aunt Betsy.

Body Language Doesn’t Lie

Of all the things Santa said to me over the years, my favorite came during a mall visit long after childhood. Fueled by a nip of eggnog, I marched up and asked Santa: “How did you know?” After a hearty Ho, Ho, Ho, he replied: “QC, I could tell you were naughty just by looking at you.” That’s when it hit me: Santa doesn’t need surveillance. He doesn’t need intel. He doesn’t need elves hiding behind drapes. He reads body language.

What I Believe Now

Looking back at all these encounters one truth stands tall like a six-foot tinsel tree: Santa is real. He’s real in the heart of your pal QC Jones (who has managed to stay on the Nice List for more than seven decades.

Just saying… QC Jones