Buddy Doyle of Gardiner is a fun-at-all-costs grandfather and substitute teacher.

A column on Sunday, Dec. 7, spoke about a Lewiston substitute teacher who apparently took it upon herself to burst the Santa bubble with her students. I’m qualified to respond, being in my third year of substitute teaching — albeit perhaps a couple days a week. 

A daily assignment is called “a job.” I call it “a joy.” Some might say substitute teaching is “baby-sitting.” It is, if that’s all the effort you want to put into it. But I beg to differ. From the moment I walk into a school until the moment I walk out, I make an effort to give a damn, if you will. The kids, no matter their age — get it — and they sense it. It’s a rare end-of-the-day exit when a teacher doesn’t thank me for “coming in.” But I digress.

A month or so ago, my wife, always immersed in local events, mentioned that they were looking for someone to “do Santa” inasmuch as the real Santa’s schedule was full. I’d been nominated.

Truth be told, I initially declined. I even thought she was joking. Me? Santa?  She continued,  “But  you love kids — and kids love you!” There was that. Moreover, ’tis true that I do enjoy more than my fair share of high-fives and fist bumps while shuttling down middle and high school hallways.

Ergo, I accepted the challenge. I was assured of a handsome outfit replete with flowing beard and “fat suit” undergarment. To prepare, I refrained from shaving, but alas, I did not care for my subsequent stubble. I’d hoped to be mistaken for George Clooney, but it wasn’t meant to be. Rather, I began to get brochures in the mail from rest homes in the area. 

My debut took place when I was deposited downtown in a flashy red pickup to light the community Christmas tree. Children were mesmerized. I smiled, patted them on the head or gave them a hug. Even some of the moms. I chose a little volunteer to help me throw the switch, transforming the bushy tree into its full holiday luminance. 

Recently, at Gardiner’s Parade of Lights, I was precariously perched on the rear deck of the fire department’s ladder truck — and a fine overview of the event t’was! I’d judiciously rehearsed my ho-ho-ho’s, but after an hour or so of diesel fumes (like taking a hit off a helium balloon) my ho-ho’s emerged as tee-hee’s.

Following my performance, hopping down from the truck, I thanked my driver for the lift. His co-pilot, who’d ridden shotgun, mentioned that her daughter, Natalie, a sophomore at Gardiner High School (and one of the dancers in the parade), mentioned I was “the best sub ever!” I don’t know about that. 

Nor do I know about my performance as a “Santa-sub.” I concluded my obligations by hoisting kids up on my lap and listening to what they have to say. Not to me — but to someone they adore and wholeheartedly believe in. God help me keep my (Irish) emotions in check.  

I know this Christmas — for certain — that dressing up, showing up and caring certainly helped me to play this coveted role. Looking beyond my flowing beard into the eyes of a youngster filled with utter wonder and amazement helped me rekindle and reinforce my belief in Santa — by becoming Santa.