Author's note: This playlet, based loosely on an incident that happened when I was young, was originally written as a submission for the Honolulu Theatre for Youth's "Christmas Talk Story," however, HTY changed the show's format and it was not adapted.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa — even if it's your cousin Harold.

CHARACTER: A boy, age 8

SETTING AND TIME: Wailuku, Maui; 1957

Easy fo' tell when get one secret aroun' our house: Gramma start talkin' Portagee.

Mommy, she unnastan' but she no can talk so good.

A few days befo' Christmas las' yeah, Mommy and Gramma go in the sewing room an' close da doah. Gramma staht talking Pocho-kine. I tink maybe dey talkin' about my Christmas present, so I go evesdrop.

'Cos. . . guess wot?

I je' like Mommy!!! I unnastan' Portagee, too, but no can fala (dat mean talk)!

But I nevah tell them! So I heah all kine tings I not s'posed to. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Sooo

Try wait. Wheah I was? Wot I was talkin' about?

Was one holiday. Eastah? Maddah's Day?

Oh, yeah, yeah, Christmas. So las' Decembah, I heah Gramma say "ah-ver-may-yar." Dat mean red. "Ca-mee-sa." Dat mean shirt. Den dey staht talking all sewing-kine. Zippah. Buttonhole. Placket, whatevah DAT is.

Junk! But den I heah Gramma say "Harold" an' I listen good. Cos' Harold, he my bestes' cousin.

He real tall. He play basketball St. Ant'ny, da champs. He one ROTC commandah; he go mahch in da front wit' Rosalee Rodrigues; she like da mascot. He take me surfin'. He allatime call me "Shrimp" but he take ceah me, too. Epeshully since my faddah died las' yeah. Onna beach, when da san' burn my feet, he loan me slippah even though stay 10 sizes too big Harold, he cool, man. Yeah, Harold.

So ...

Try wait, try wait.

Wot I was talking about?

Halloween? Valetime's Day?

Oh, yeah, yeah. So las' Christmas, I heah Gramma talking about sewing and about Harold and I stay so frustrated 'cos I been axing and axing fo' one bicycle.

Mommy keep saying going be one beeeeeg surprise. And Gramma tell, "Is Santa coming, bouse mouse?"

Bous, dat mean kiss. She call me bous mouse. Kinna make shame, baby name li'dat, but, you know, she my grans. Yeah, Vovo (dat Portagee for Grandma).

So ...

Try wait, try wait.

Wot I was talking about?

Memorial Day? May Day pageant?

Kay, kay, kay, Christmas. So, we Catlick, yeah?, so we open presens Christmas Eve befo' we go Midnight Mass.

Dat night, evrybody come our house fo' eat — Uncle Henry, Auntie Leopoldina, all dey keeds — and I stay waitin' fo' Harold. Den I heah Uncle say Harold wen' go Rosalee Rodrigues' house. Not coming.

"WOT???" I cannot believe. Cannot have Christmas wit'out Harold. Harold da one play 'ukulele when we sing Christmas carols fo' stay awake till churchtime. Harold da one put my new "some-assembly-required" toys togeddah. Harold tie my bow tie fo' church.

I feel like cry but I no like make shame.

I try fo' enjoy dinnah but take soooo long. I like go open presents. If I no can have Daddy or Harold, at leas' I can have presents.

All da grownups stay sittin' aroun, talking story. I try hurry everybody up, like da guy on da TV show "Rawhide."

"Keeeeep a-movin, movin, movin "

Finally, we all go in da livin' room an' all of a sudden Gramma say, "You heah dat?" Everybody come quiet.

I tinkin' "Wot now?"

And den I heah. Bells. Little tinkle bells.

Somebody stay on da porch.

Ho! My eyes come beeg.

"Ho, ho, ho," a voice say.

It's (gulp)SANTA!!!

Heah. In Wailuku, Maui, Hawai'i, T.H.! At my house!

I tink: DIS da big surprise.

I tink: Gonfonnit, Harold not heah.

I tink: Wondah wot he brought me?

And den Santa come inside. He real tall. He get big white whiskas like cotton balls and he weahin' funny-kine clothes look like da flannel pajamas Gramma make me, oney red wit' some kine white fuzzy stuff aroun' da edges.

And, huh, look at dat! Santa get Hinode rice sack je' like Gramma use fo' dish towel.

And, huh, look at dat, Santa stay bayafoot!

And not only dat, he get lu'au feet.

And not only dat, he get knobby-kine surfah toes.

And not oney dat

I KNOW dose feet.

But befoah I can open my mout', Santa wink at me and reach back and roll one big, red bike in front of me.

And den Harold say "Merry Christmas, shrimp!"