Pure Sole: Mistletoe or turf toe

Forget the mistletoe. I fear it may be turf toe that tickles my fancy this holiday.

December is arguably the best time of the year to see your heroes.

No, not Santa Claus.

Well, OK, Santa Claus — but I had other heroes in mind.

Step out into any local, domestic or regional manufacturing outlet and you are bound to see that brightly sweatered graduate from last season or the season before that who battled for region and state titles, or proudly wore the same colors you so adamantly cheer for on the weekends.

Or maybe you see that adult in the community who has been absent from your vocabulary for a bit until he/she/they wind up being guilted or egg-nogged into becoming a superstar again on one of the many sports venues of athletic endeavor.

And there are many in the coming days.

For instance, the George Houston Gymnasium is going to be a gathering for hoop talent past, present and future so any local Scrooge has no excuse to not be nice and scurry out to watch the current Juneau-Douglas High School: Yadaa.at Kalé Crimson Bears boys and girls take on the legends they have heard of, watched and aspired to be like. Those games take place Monday (4 p.m. boys / 6 p.m. girls).

And if you haven’t started all your holiday revelries by then, and have gotten up a little sooner on that Monday, then strap on those skis, snowboards and snowshoes and head to Montana Creek to watch the JDHS Nordic Ski Team’s Alumni Relay at 11 a.m.

Please remember to leave Santa’s sleigh-pulling reindeer behind, or else bring plenty of those colorful baggie trail markers we have come to set out so Santa doesn’t put more than coal in your stocking.

And what is perfect for the day after Santa’s delivery of good tidings but a little bit of friendly ice skating. The Treadwell Ice Arena will feature a bit of hockey play at 6 p.m. Dec. 26, and nothing sounds better the day after your bank account crashes than hard pucks, carved sticks and sharp blades.

If seeing your heroes on the court, ice, snow or field is striking than seeing them clad in sweaters of their own design is even better…Saturday is also the Solstice Sweater Shuffle at the King Salmon Shelter at Lena Beach. Racers line up at 10 a.m. and have their choice of a one-mile or four-mile run, whichever is easier in relation to the amount of sweater to be worn. Sweaters are not required, but they do give a little more cheer to the day.

And if you haven’t already noticed the bevy of T-shirted young and old soccer-kitted residents of our own little “Whoville,” then you haven’t been past the Dimond Park Field House any of the last few days.

The 32nd Annual Holiday Cup is underway, and the only days there will not be competitions on the pitch is Christmas and Christmas Eve. So get up there on the field house running track and loudly proclaim some festive holiday cheers to your favorite team down below…of which there are 31 and roughly 400 players. So chances are someone kicking the ball out there didn’t send you a Christmas card or picked the wrong gift. If I were you, I would make it a point to stop by and loudly let them know about that. The tournament championships are Tuesday, Dec. 31. Game schedules are at https://holidaycup.org.

If you feel like getting in some running – or walking – action some of the oldest heroes in town meet every Sunday in two rotating locales. The Smokin’ Old Geezers long ago began inviting any age, skill level or gender identified runners to their 7:30 a.m. gatherings. Some folks have even biked along. This Sunday they meet downtown near First National Bank and on Dec. 29th they are back in the valley, meeting in the University of Alaska Southeast parking lot. Lots of them are holiday traveling, though, so if you are into New Year’s resolutions and need an extra kick it is always best to break in on that Sunday, Jan. 5 downtown.

They say you shouldn’t meet your heroes, that you can be let down. I think heroes give us passion, work ethic and sometimes a good laugh.

I met my first hero on Christmas, well, a few days before.

Yes, I was about five and it was Santa.

I thought it was strange, I mean, with all the deliveries and hectic schedule he had coming up that this legend would be attending our tiny little town’s annual Moose Club holiday dinner.

But, sure enough, he came.

I remember the sound of sleigh bells echoing through the Moose Club walls and heavy footsteps on the roof — the Loyal Order of the Moose went to no expense to make this whole thing feel authentic and I, and many of my peers, were eating it up big time.

And in he strode.

All full of himself for sure. Who wouldn’t be? A big bag of treats for young and old, a hearty disposition and, apparently, well-fed.

I kept my distance.

I was a bit wary as names were called and brightly wrapped bribes were handed out.

I thought it was a bit chaotic. My classmates and peers losing their minds when hearing their name mispronounced, pushing past their parents and guests, and leaping into Santa’s lap.

I kept my cool. My shiny, black fake patent leather shoes biting into my toes. My hand-me-down-sweater scratching through undergarments. My pulse still not up to the level of the sugar I had ingested. My gaze nonchalantly admiring the new flooring.

Then my name was called.

I bolted forward one slippery shoe step, stopped and began crying in fright as all attention had been directed at me, me, me and I was too sensitive to handle being brought before my idol.

It took five strong Scandinavian men, ultimately who were tossed aside by one strong Scandinavian woman, to capture me and place me near the gentle giant’s grasp.

He lifted me up and set me down.

There was something familiar in those blue eyes of Santa. The twinkle that is praised in holiday songs worldwide reminded me of someone.

There was an aroma, too. A scent of deep in the woods. An outdoorsy sent of a rugged man. That was on many of my father’s shirts. Did Santa bring those gifts to my pa?

And his hands… I only have seen hands that size when I was lifted up from a tumble or placed in the top bunk for bedtime or guided along some forested path.

The beard threw me.

So I gave it a tug.

There was my father’s face!

I, and many of my cohorts, lost a hero that night, but I gained a new one.

Everyone gathered around my father that evening. The town shook his hand and laughed along with him and wished each other a “Merry Christmas” and shared good tidings of joy.

And he was mine.

Happy Holidays!

• Contact Klas Stolpe at klas.stolpe@juneauempire.com.