“Dad, can I have your mobile please?” I felt a little annoyed when Kate asked. We had been stuck at Chicago O’Hare Airport for hours. Snow was falling hard outside, and Christmas was almost here. Our flight was delayed again, and my patience was running low. It was just the three of us. Me, my wife, and little Kate. We were traveling to New York to spend Christmas there. I kept checking my phone for updates, but the screen showed the same message every time. Delayed. “I really need it,” Kate said, looking up at me. I rubbed my forehead and sighed. I needed the phone too, but arguing would not help. I handed it to her. “Stay right here,” I said. “I’ll go check the flight status again.” I walked toward the counter, hoping this time would be different. When I came back, I saw Kate standing near a bench. An old man was sitting there alone. He had a long white beard and gentle eyes. He was wearing a brown coat and a thick scarf. There was something calm and warm about him. Kate was talking to him. Or at least, trying to. She spoke English. He spoke Arabic. They smiled at each other, laughed a little, and used their hands to explain things. It was sweet, but also a little sad. They clearly wanted to talk. Kate looked at me and held up the phone. “She wants to translate,” my wife said softly. “He doesn’t speak English.” Kate opened an app on my phone. It was called FindingUR Way. It was a new app with real-time translation in more than nine languages. Kate spoke into the phone in English. The phone spoke in Arabic. The old man’s face changed immediately. His eyes widened, and he smiled like a child. He replied in Arabic, slowly and carefully. The phone translated his words into English. And suddenly, they understood each other. They talked for a long time. They talked about his home and the warm weather there. He talked about his family. Kate talked about snow, school, and Christmas. She told him she loved Santa. They talked for almost an hour. Time passed quietly, as if the airport noise had disappeared. Then the announcement came. “Flight to New York is now boarding.” Kate looked disappointed. The old man stood up and adjusted his scarf. Before leaving, he reached into his pocket and took out a small pack. He handed it to Kate. The phone translated his words. “A gift for you.” It was a pack of dates. Kate hugged him without hesitation. The old man placed his hand on his heart and smiled. Then he walked away, slowly, into the crowd. Kate came back to us, holding the dates carefully. “Dad,” she said, “I met Santa.” I smiled. Not all Santas wear red clothes. Some wear brown coats. Some speak Arabic. Some give dates instead of toys. That Christmas, at a snowy airport, my daughter met the Arab Santa.