Every December, millions of people sit around glowing screens, hot cocoa in hand, watching Santa fly around the world in “real time.” They track him as he hops time zones, dodges weather systems, and somehow delivers gifts to billions of homes without once asking for directions.
It feels magical, like Santa finally got an operations department. But the part that gets me every year is that the whole thing exists because of a typo.
Back in 1955, Sears ran a newspaper ad inviting children to call Santa directly. Taking that alone feels wildly optimistic, like customer service had a lot more faith in humanity back then.
But the real problem wasn’t the idea, it was the phone number, ME 2-6681. Instead of ringing through to the North Pole, the calls went straight to Continental Air Defense Command (CONAD), an agency responsible for monitoring North American airspace.
Let’s pause there.
Imagine answering the phone at one of the most serious, buttoned-up operations in the country, radar screens glowing, Cold War tension in the air, only to hear a small voice ask, “Is Santa coming to my house tonight?”
Now here’s where the story could have gone very differently. The officer, Col. Harry Shoup, could have hung up. Could have barked, “This is not Santa, child,” and returned to watching the skies. Could have shut the whole thing down in seconds.
Instead, he checked the radar. And then he told the caller that Santa was on his way.
More calls followed, as kids told other kids. Parents overheard, and word spread.
And just like that, one small mistake turned into a moment of unexpected humanity inside one of the most legitimate operations in the country. The following year, the organization, now the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), made it official.
They set up a team to handle just Santa calls. Over time, it evolved into what we now know as the Santa Tracker, using radar, satellites, and volunteers to follow Santa’s route every Christmas Eve.
Every time I think of the story, it gets to me, because on the surface, it’s charming and funny: a holiday blooper with a happy ending. But the older I get, the more it feels like a quiet lesson wrapped in tinsel.
Something meaningful didn’t come from a master plan. It came from a mistake, and from someone choosing kindness instead of correction.
That officer didn’t have to play along. There was no protocol for “mythical gift-giver inquiries.”
No strategic advantage in reassuring children about reindeer flight paths. But in that moment, he understood something important: being right wasn’t nearly as valuable as being kind.
And somehow, that kindness grew into a tradition that now spans decades, technologies, and generations. Parents who once tracked Santa as kids now do it with their own children.
Volunteers give their time. Entire systems pause, just briefly, to make room for wonder.
I think about that a lot, especially this time of year.
We spend so much energy trying to get things right. We chase perfect plans, posts, and timing.
We treat mistakes like disasters instead of doorways. But sometimes the things we mess up become the very things that matter most.
A wrong number and an answered phone. A decision to enjoy instead of shutting it down.
And that’s probably why the Santa Tracker still works, not because of the satellites or the screens, but because it was born out of grace. Out of people choosing to believe, just for a moment, that wonder deserved protection.
Every Christmas Eve, when I see Santa moving across the map, I don’t just see a red dot racing the sunrise. I see a reminder that meaning doesn’t always arrive through success.
Sometimes it slips in through error, humility, and a willingness to say, “Sure, Santa’s on his way.”
And honestly? In a world that takes itself very seriously most of the time, I’m grateful someone answered the phone and chose magic instead.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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