 Authors: Christine Ford & Trish Holland View More by This Author Description This story, written for military families, is about a visit from “the Santa of Sailors” to those who can’t be home for Christmas.
Not a creature was stirring to windward or lee. The sailors were nestled all snug in their racks Like orders of pancakes, so tight were the stacks. One Christmas Eve out at sea, some homesick sailors are paid a visit by Master Chief Claus, the Santa of Sailors. This lively and poignant tale was inspired by Clement C. Moore’s classic yuletide poem. Navy Corpsman's Night Before Christmas "'Twas the night before Christmas as I flew o'er the Marine Base, when I spied a young man who seemed out of place. His eyes showed compassion, his hair a bit long, but his head was held high and his body was strong. His air was confident, his uniform smart, but what impressed me most was the size of his heart. For he embodied honor, one of this country's best, and the words U.S. NAVY showed large on his chest. As I stood there in wonder and gazed into his eyes, the words that he spoke took me quite by surprise. "What's wrong Santa, haven't you ever seen a sailor before?" I sensed something special and longed to know more. "To be honest, this field thing wasn't part of my plan, but God didn't give me a boat or tin can." The words he spoke next surprised me all the more, "But I'm as proud of my Navy as I am of the Corps!" "Don't worry Santa, that I'm a sailor you see, for when a Marine goes down they will still call on me. They'll forget I'm a sailor, they'll call in my stock. At the top of their lungs they'll yell ,"Get me the doc!" "And I'll answer that call, anytime, anywhere. Though I know I'm a target I really don't care. I'll face incoming fire as I race cross the land, and use my very own body to shield a downed man." "Working long hours and into the night, my unit's battle is over, but I'm just starting to fight. For the life of every Marine is sacred to me. I refuse to surrender them to death, and in that I'll find victory." "And yet I'll take the time to comfort a dying man, to sit down by his side, to reach out and hold his hand. For it takes as much courage to care as to fight. For just as the poem says, many don't "go gently into that night." "Santa, it's not any one uniform that makes you a man, but rather it's those ideals for which you choose to stand. I draw my line here, it's long and it's plain. For pain, hurt and suffering are the things I disdain." I know very well that I may lose my life, so that a Marine may see an unmet child and young wife. So Santa, it really doesn't matter if they don't like my hair. I'm a Navy Corpsman, their Doc, and I'll always be there." "I follow the brave docs who have come long before, from Belleau Wood, Iwo, and Lebanon's shore. As history proudly shows, they all gave their best, and for those who have died, surely they're blessed." "At Inchon, the gulf and times during Tet, our brothers have fallen, but we carry on yet. For we carry their honor and legacy still." As I held back my tears it took all of my will. I had to leave him there for I had other plans, but I knew in my heart that the Corps is in good hands. As I flew away I heard his laughter, it rang so loud and clear. "Hey Santa, how 'bout a nice pair of boots for the 26 miler next year?" HMC(FMF/SW) Mark Forsberg 2/3 UDP, Okinawa, December 1997 |
