ANTONIO DI DIO continues his short history of kindness, with a heartwarming story of a wide-eyed kid at Christmas (him) and his hero, a remarkable man called Cactus.  

IT was stinking hot and I was in a queue at the back of a truck next to the white elephant stall. 

To my five-year-old eyes, being out in the evening, and with half the little town wandering the playground of my school, nothing was so magical. Santa was on the back of the truck and he was obviously real and in town just to see us – cool!

He wasn’t the only cool bloke seen that week either. I had seen my hero, Cactus, the day before. Real name Michael Moran, he was everywhere – he seemed to run the parish, was the local estate agent who found us somewhere to live whenever we “permanently” returned to Australia, was the travel agent, and often shire president. Just like every seven years or so there’d be a fire or flood buggering our banana patch and the district – in which he would lead a response – every few years the surf club or rugby league team would face extinction, and Cactus charged himself with fixing it. All those institutions are thriving today.

On that December day, Cactus had been at our house, accompanied by the person who actually ran the town, his infinitely patient wife Judy. I knew he must have been coming, on account of mum having been cooking cabbage rolls, something she prepared early in the morning for the six decades she lived in Australia, whenever she wanted to shamelessly corrupt a councillor. 

She escaped southern Europe and her beloved family to get away from corruption and crime, but the black cabbage roll economy was exempt from her moral code and she milked it something shocking in order to get her way. 

On this occasion Judy and Mike had been helping her understand a concept she’d not seen before – mum and dad were part of a culture that kissed and went to mass on December 25, but exchanged small gifts, usually bread, on the Epiphany, January 6 – the “twelfth day of Christmas”. 

Judy had convinced mum that now I was five she should give me a Christmas present like the kids get on TV and I heard the whispers and they sounded pretty exciting! 

Cactus, in his ubiquitous desert boots with black laces, was kneeling in front of a large object in the sun room helping dad cover something with paper and ribbons with all the skill of a gorilla doing needlepoint. 

Back to the back of the truck at the fete – it got to my turn and Santa sounded a bit gruff but awesome nevertheless. He avoided the big container with all the wrapped presents and got a different flat one and handed it over. 

Heaven on a stick! – till the moment I noted that Santa’s shoes were desert boots with black laces – oh tragedy! – Cactus was Santa, too!!

Obviously one thing I’d learned pretty clearly from the recently aired Christmas episodes of “Dr Who” and “Lost in Space” was this was a fiendishly clever alien who was disguised as Mike who was, in turn, disguised as Santa. 

I challenged the alien. The unforgettable response is still with me – “Son, you and me are men of the world. Santa’s real busy, and I’m standing in. You can’t upset the other kids or your mum because they wouldn’t understand – they’d think Santa wasn’t real.”

See what he did there? What a man – he brought me into his circle where perhaps a hundred other people in the town, who shared his vision of service, of kindness, with a conspiratorial little white lie. 

Years later his kidneys failed, and he underwent dialysis at home – the people loved it, as Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 5am to 10am they could find him and tell him their troubles. He gave far more to his community than Santa ever did. And Judy gave even more – she shared the best part of her Michael with the whole shire – hers was the greater gift. 

That Christmas morning in 1972 I woke to a brand-new second hand bike covered in seven kinds of mismatching paper and a card written by someone who could write – Judy. 

And the little package from the back of the truck was a Superboy comic stamped on the cover “Coffs Harbour Book Exchange 10 cents no return”. I still have it, with 20,000 others and the passion has led to starting a charity and community and enriching a life. 

Christmas reminds me of all the people who give their lives to serve others. And although I’ve tried scrupulous honesty in life, I never told mum about the true identity of Santa. It would have been unkind.

Antonio Di Dio is a local GP, medical leader and nerd. There’s more of his “Kindness” on citynews.com.au

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