People who believe in him all over the world, from early childhood and through the rest of their lives, begin to think about Santa Claus this time of year. Will he come? What will he bring? Have I been good enough to expect anything? Secretly, some of the most fervent believers silently wonder, “Is Santa real?”

On a recent visit to southern Florida, I noticed in the yard right next door to my mother’s condo, there was a man with long white hair and a beard. Then, he turned and I saw his face. In that epiphanous moment, I knew exactly who he was. Kneeling on knee protectors and hunched over while weeding his spread of assorted coleus, I realized that I was looking at the one and only Santa Claus.

Fearing that he was enjoying the quietude of his apparent retirement and seeming anonymity, I approached him slowly and respectfully, being careful not to surprise or startle him. (I noted his bright red electric scooter parked just a few yards over to the side.) Strains of Gene Autry’s “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” floated out through the kitchen window, sounding much like an original 78 RPM recording of it. It was sunny and muggy. After all, we were in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, on an August morning.

Q Excuse me, sir. I’m sure you’ve been told this before, but you look an awful lot like Santa Claus.

A Of course I look like Santa Claus — just as you look exactly to be who you are. David, isn’t it?

(I was astonished that he knew my name and it took me a second or two to recover.)

Q Well, yes, I’m David. How did you know that?

A Well, I’m not psychic, my friend, but I have two things that helped me to know who you are immediately. One, of course, is my memory. I can recall you as a Jewish kid in Boston wondering what all the commotion was about with your Christian friends when you and your family were trying to observe Hanukkah. I even remember the look of real question and wonder on your face when you watched “Miracle on 34th Street” on your old black-and-white TV for the first time. It made you tearful with joy and left you unsure. The other assistance I have in knowing who you are is your mother, my neighbor, who has been telling everyone who will listen that her son from California is coming to visit.

(Santa Claus stood and walked slowly to a set of chairs on his lawn, gesturing for me to follow him. We sat down together and an older woman, who he introduced as “my sweetie pie,” brought us each a glass of iced lemonade and retreated back into the house.)

David, life is not forever, not even for me. And since you’re leaving tomorrow, if we are going to spend some time talking, we really should get on with it. (His smile was still broad and warmly genuine as he spoke.)

Q OK, Santa. Well, there are a few questions that I would like to ask you, questions that I believe are shared by many people about you. Would that be OK?

A Of course. Just remember, I always tell the truth, so be careful what you ask. Ho-ho-ho! So, what would you like to know?

Q Well, about those presents, do you bring them or not?

A That’s not exactly a slow-pitch starting point. The truth is that I am the producer of Christmas, not the only actor. Taking a general plan that has been in place, with regional variations, for some centuries now, I organize the energy, resources and hearts of adults to see that children get at least some of what they are hoping for at Christmas.

Q I suspected something like that. But, how about all those cookies and glasses of milk that get left for you?

A David, you’re a pretty smart guy and are a father and grandfather, you tell me. I would guess that there might be more important things you would want to know about me. Are there?

(I realized that had I known I was going to run into Santa Claus, I would have prepared a more thoughtful set of questions. But here I was, flying by the seat of my pants, without Rudolph’s nose to guide me.)

Q Sure, Santa. Have you always been?

A No, I was young once — and was born like you were. My life, though, has lasted longer than most since Methuselah and I was created, in part, by local wishes and beliefs — before some children had me bring coal, which was a good and necessary thing at the time, to their homes and place it in stockings for their families to use for heat in the winter. I’m not sure where I was or what I was doing. I became, in that period, St. Nicholas. I suspect I may have had some experience working with wooden items, children and animals earlier in my life.

Q And Mrs. Claus?

A Oh, my sweetie pie. We met on a singles cruise in the 1920s. I met newspaper illustrator Thomas Nast on that cruise, too. I have a feeling that the experience was a rather indelible one for him.

Q There have been a lot of films made about you. Have you seen them and do you have a favorite?

A Of course, I’ve watched them — even picked up a new idea from them here and there. I think my favorite was the 1947 version of “Miracle on 34th Street,” a lot more reality than fantasy to that one — or so it seems to me. I identify with Kris Kringle. If I were more like everyone else, his character — I loved Edmund Gwenn — would be a close approximation of who I would be.

Q How about now, Santa? Are you here in retirement?

A That was two questions, David, so I will take them one at a time. Am I here? Of course I am. You knew that already. Then, you wonder if I am “retired.” The answer is no. I continue to produce Christmas, from my own perspective, and only appear to be everywhere at once. I love the thing where the North American Aerospace Defense Command tracks the progress of my sleigh on Christmas Eve. We watch it every year. The reindeer look fabulous in HD.

(I hear my mother calling from next door. “David, it’s time to leave for the early-bird dinner!” It’s 10 a.m.)

Q Just a couple of more things then, Santa.

A Ask away.

Q Is it OK for Jewish kids to believe in you, too?

A Congratulations, David. I knew you’d get around to a real question if we took a little more time. I am about belief and children. I am about values and humanity. Though I and the marketing rights to my existence and images seem to have been claimed by Christendom, I belong to everyone who wants and needs me in their lives.

Q Do you have any children of your own?

A Hundreds of millions of them.

Q It seems kind of odd running into you here. Don’t you stay at the North Pole?

A We are “snow birds.” We live here for some of the year and the other at the North Pole. Over the years, we are spending less and less time there, though. As you are probably aware, the polar ice caps are melting. Last year, an elf’s toy shop fell into the sea. And besides, at our age, those big red outfits are kind of hard to move around in.

Q Just one more thing, Santa. Do they still make Lionel Trains and can you get me one, please?

A No problem at all.

And so, the interview ended and I strolled back to my mother’s condo for some of her famous instant coffee.

David Reinstein is a San Anselmo resident. IJ readers are invited to share their stories of love, dating, parenting, marriage, friendship and other experiences for our How It Is column, which runs Tuesdays in the Lifestyles section. All stories must not have been published in part or in its entirety previously. Send your stories of no more than 600 words to lifestyles@marinij.com. Please write How It Is in the subject line. The IJ reserves the right to edit them for publication. Please include your full name, address and a daytime phone number.