A Christmas Surprise: The Santa I Hired for My Son Shared an Unexpected Connection With Him

I Hired a Man to Wish My Son a Merry Christmas as Santa Claus and I Noticed He Had the Same Birthmark as My Son

For three years in a row, I hired the same Santa actor to visit our home. However, it wasn’t until last Christmas Eve that I happened to run into him in the restroom and realized how devoted he was to us—well, to my son.

A lot of the time, reality is stranger than fiction. Hi there! Last year, I was 34 years old, and my name is Elara. First, a little background: Dylan was six months old when I adopted him. It was eight years ago already.

With only a note stating his name was Martin, the adoption agency discovered him at their door (yes, it was like a movie, I know).

I changed his name to Dylan while he was still a newborn, and ever since then, it’s been just the two of us. Although parenting a child alone is challenging, it has been the most fulfilling period of my life.

Since I adopted him, every holiday has grown more memorable, but Christmas was my favorite. I started looking for a Santa I could hire for a picture because Dylan was a fluffy baby and I detest crowds.

I took my youngster to a photography studio I found that has its own actor. But as Dylan got older, I considered changing things up.

I discovered a flyer posted on my doorway more than three years ago while I was still brainstorming ideas for improved Christmas customs. It read: “Professional actor available to visit your home dressed as Santa Claus to surprise your child.”

There was a phone number and a name, and really? It was a gift from heaven. Harold soon came into our lives when I called.

That first Christmas, he arrived wearing a Santa outfit that was a bit too big on him. However, that was precisely what I had in mind. When Dylan was five years old, he genuinely believed it to be the actual Santa.

He showed Santa every ornament on our little, strangely adorned tree while dragging him around our small living room. I watched from the old couch that I had thrifted.

But in hindsight, I ought to have recognized the warning signs. Harold stayed for THREE HOURS that day. He read stories, helped bake cookies, and constructed block towers with Dylan.

He flatly rejected my attempt to pay him more, which I honestly couldn’t afford, and asked that I give him a call over the Christmas break.

I followed through on that a year later, and Harold was shockingly still in business. Most kids get a quick Santa picture at the mall, don’t they? Not Dylan.

In our living room, he had some alone time to play with Santa. “Doesn’t this guy have other houses to visit?” I kept asking myself, though.

I questioned him about it once. It’s really not necessary for you to stay this long. I tried to be discreet when I suggested that other families must be waiting.

“Oh no, Christmas Eve is only for special boys like Dylan,” he added with a smile. Looking back once more… yes. There was a problem.

Additionally, Dylan grew accustomed to his Santa privilege and gave these visits his all. He would do extra tasks and thoroughly tidy his room—as best a child could. He explained to me that “Santa would want to see I’m being good.”

Now fast-forward to Christmas of this year. Dylan was eight years old and still had faith in Santa, but he was gradually approaching the age at which children began to inquire.

With lights everywhere, dollar store stockings by our makeshift fireplace (hey, we make do with what we have), and our reliable artificial tree covered in eight years’ worth of haphazard ornaments, our living room was decked out in all the Christmas decorations.

Harold made a mistake when Dylan was enthusiastically discussing his science project with him, and all of a sudden, Santa’s entire suit was covered with hot chocolate.

“Oh NO!” Harold kept his cool while my child yelled as if the world were ending.

“Don’t be concerned, buddy. He laughed, then turned to face me. “Even Santa has mishaps sometimes,” he said. “Mind if I use your bathroom to clean up?”

I hurried to get him a towel from the closet after nodding, and when I went to give it to him, oh, boy. He had removed his costume’s top, and—no! That’s not the case with this story.

Harold’s back had an odd crescent-shaped birthmark that left me stunned. Dylan’s was exactly the same. What were the chances?

But hold on, things get stranger. I noticed keys to a Mercedes on the restroom counter. When did a Santa actor who works part-time and comes from a family with lower-than-average income get driving a car like that? It wasn’t outside, either. Was it parked a long way away?

In any case, I gave the towel to him without looking, trying to act calm. But my thoughts were racing.

Dylan was back in the living room, arranging a board game that Santa had promised to let him open early. I sat there attempting to make sense of it all. The birthmark, the vehicle, the way he was always with us so much…

The real kicker, though, was what came afterward.

“So, Martin, ready to play again?” Harold inquired as he emerged from the restroom.

MARTIN When Dylan was discovered on the doorstep of an orphanage eight years ago, the note that was placed with him said that name!

I went crazy. shouted, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” as they leaped to their feet.

Harold’s mouth fell open, and poor Dylan froze.

“Mommy?” Dylan had a very little voice. “Why are you yelling at Santa?”

I had to stand back and take a deep breath. I also briefly sent Dylan upstairs. I then looked in the direction of “Santa.”

“The birthmark. Those keys. You also gave him the name Martin. Talk now. I raked my hands through my hair and shouted, “Now.”

Harold laughed, which shocked me. It wasn’t funny, though. It felt like letting go of a big worry. I initially saw his square jaw when he removed his artificial beard.

He had a good appearance. youthful. I’d say about 40 years old. He also appeared, somehow, to be wealthy. Above all, though, he resembled my son.

Harold nodded when he noticed my expression. “That’s right. His shoulders slumped as he uttered the frantic words, “I’m his father.”

Background: He was young and impoverished when Dylan was born years ago. Harold had no relatives to assist him or his child when his mother abandoned them.

Giving his child, whom he had called Martin, up for adoption and hoping that someone else could provide him with a decent life was the only option. However, he monitored him—and me.

Additionally, he set up the whole Santa idea years ago in order to see Dylan once a year.

By then, he had established a prosperous business and had his life together, but he didn’t want to ruin Dylan’s happy life with me.

To be honest, I was furious. But I got it, too? He somehow managed to support his son without stealing him from me.

I asked him for a while after that talk. With a nod, Harold returned to his Santa persona, bid Dylan farewell, and departed. But we spoke frequently, and I had his contact details.

I thought my son had to know a few days later. I took a seat for him. He was aware of his adoption, but this was unique. He was doubtful at first. “Mom, Santa can’t be my dad,” he said, rolling his eyes up at me.

I sighed, “No, silly,” I responded. “By now, you ought to be aware that Santa is a genuine man in that outfit. Harold is the one who comes to see us each year.

I then explained all I knew in detail. After a day of processing the information, Dylan told me he wanted to speak with Harold. Even though he initially believed he was Santa, my child already adored him, so I knew that was his reaction.

I asked Harold over for supper the following weekend, and it was the first time he showed up without his costume. We adjusted to it, albeit it was still a little odd.

After a few hours, Dylan was gregarious and enthusiastic as usual. He wanted his biological father to see how good he was. We decided to schedule visits every weekend at the end of the evening.

Every weekend became every other evening. And every day became every other night. Harold also showed interest in me, which surprised me even more.

He had inquired about me as Santa, but I always assumed that was merely a matter of courtesy. But not any more. We didn’t confess our feelings for one another until three months following the major revelation.

He proposed to me just last week, after several more months had passed. wearing a Santa outfit. I had to tell this story since it was more romantic than it seems.

Sometimes life is strange. I found love, my child received the father he never imagined, and it all began when I hired a Santa!

Despite the fact that money was never abundant, our family of two was doing well. But after years of hardship, Harold developed a successful business that offered us the world in addition to love. It fulfilled a dream of mine.