Dear Santa...

I'm sitting at Gate 40 at LAX, trying to shrug off the irritation of just having found out that my flight got bumped back an hour, so not only am I 2 hours early for my flight, but a full 3. And the seats in the waiting area are all cracked and uncomfortable looking so I settle into a spot on the floor, next to those metal racks in which people shove their over-sized carry-ons in an effort to convince themselves, and to prove to stingy agents, that their luggage does indeed belong ON the plane and not below it.

I'm already getting sleepy and none of the time-passers I've brought seem appealing. Fortunately my entertainment for much of the next 3 hours will be provided by a 3-year old named Logan and her poor, brave, courageous, amazing mother, who has managed to keep her curious 3-year old content in an airport for 6 hours already.

Logan, the mischief-maker in all this, has messy curly blond hair and is wearing a cheetah print Ecko shirt that's almost too small, and black leggings. Her scuffed pink Uggs have been tossed aside and are only called up for duty when she has to go to the bathroom (she's already had one false alarm) or when her mom takes her outside for a smoke break (the mom needs the nicotine; the kid needs the fresh air).

Like many just-too-old-to-be-toddlers, Logan has a thing for pushing buttons: the metal buttons on the ticket taker, the silver, clickity-clacking buttons of the pay phones and her mom's buttons too. But it's clear her favorite buttons to push are those of the pay phones. And she has some interesting conversations with the nobodies on the other end!

I'm not the only person privvy to this show - there are three young men sitting in the area - one's a Marine, one's in the Navy and I'm pretty sure the other one is a civilian, but I'm, not sure - and enjoying Logan's complete disregard for social boundaries. In fact, it seems like to four of them have become buddies. As Logan is exploring other areas of the waiting area, these three guys are looking on one of the pay phones to find out its number (Logan's mom has promised her that, if a phone rings, she can answer it).

Logan is entirely engrossed in dancing her way in a circle in front of her mom when the phone rings. In complete patronization of her daughter, the young mother (who is wearing heels and has bleach-white hair topped with a glintzy silver beany) rushes over to the phone with her daughter and picks her up to answer it.

"Hello?!" Logan says.
"Hello," it's the Marine, one of Logan's new friends, as he does a clumsy James Bond wannabe move to hide himself behind the chairs.
"Who is this?" she squeals.
"Why, it's Santa Clause!"
"Santa Clause!"
"Yes Logan, this is Santa Clause. And I have written here that you've been a VERY good girl!"
"Mommy, it's Santa Clause!" Logan's eyes get rounder and bigger than they were when she discovered she could sit in the suitcase-measurer-basket.
"Tell him what you want for Christmas," Mom prompts.
"I want toys and a drum set and - what else, mom?" Mom suggests tools and clothes and shoes too. "And tools and clothes and shoes too!"
"Ho ho ho, well I'll see what I can do! Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Santa!" Logan hangs up the phone and is so excited that she runs over to me and shouts, "I talked to Santa!"

At the risk of getting sentimental, I'd like to point out how misery can bring complete strangers into company that finds charming the potentially irksome antics of a 3-year old whose been stuck in an airport for more hours than she sleeps at night. And what's more - The graciousness of grown men who realize the importance of encouraging the creativity of imagination and indulging in a childhood story to make it real for a rambunctious little girl named Logan.