Santa: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

It's another Christmas morning. My forty-fifth, the nineteenth spent in Name-of-Town-Withheld, the ninth with kids, my third as blogger. Having not written anything for nearly a month, I have had themes and half-written essays on Christmas and all that it brings - the good and the bad - swirling around in my head, making it hard to write anything coherent at all. Should I start with what I love or with what I hate about the season? Should the story be funny or serious? Should there be many posts or one? There were just too many questions for my already over-stuffed brain. Thus, the hiatus.

Then, suddenly, late last night as I drifted off into sleep, it occurred to me that I write about something that I both love and hate about Christmas: Santa.

Daniel "knows" about Santa. He suspected for a long time before finally coming forth and sharing his views, which I had no choice but to confirm. I'm not surprised. After all, his father and I started teaching him at an early age to be careful around strangers, and that "strangers" can be people that you know, like a neighbour, a school-mate's mom or dad or a parent's co-worker. It follows logically that the term "stranger" would encompass a fat guy in a red suit with a fake beard who asks children to sit on his knee and tell him secrets whilst parents watch and smile from a safe distance. The guy then has the nerve to enter your house in the middle of the night and leave "gifts" that may or may not match the request whispered earlier by the child but for which the child must appear grateful lest he or she winds up on the "naughty" list the following year. In retrospect, I really don't think Daniel found Santa all that "magical".

On the other hand, Janet still believes in Santa Claus and Daniel, despite his own views, likes to perpetuate the myth. I think he finds it fun to toy with his little sister's vulnerabilities, taking full advantage of her fear of being placed on the "naughty" list to manipulate Janet into behaving a little less like a princess. When it happens, I can literally see the cost-benefit calculations occurring in Janet's head and I must admit that I have resorted to engaging in this kind of extortion myself as a means of convincing Janet to go to bed, brush her teeth and clean her room. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that effectively outside of the November 30-December 24 window.

Santa can make things tricky, however. Having a young child sitting by the tree at 6:00 a.m. Christmas morning, sobbing uncontrollably because Santa didn't bring what she requested (perhaps because he was out breaking into houses and stuffing his face with cookies, milk and, in one case that I know of, beer) is, to say the least, disconcerting. With Daniel, of course, narrowing down exactly what he wanted for Christmas has been easy these past few years. I simply ask him for some options and he tells me what he wants. Moreover, since he knows that the gifts must come from the income of his two working parents and not from a guy with a limitless supply of materials and cheap child labour, the gift requests are reasonable.

One Christmas, when I was about Janet's age, I personally experienced the disappointment of Santa screwing up my order. Shortly before Christmas, my best friend, Bethy, had a birthday and for it she received a pair of beautiful silver sling-back shoes, with bows on the toes. Oh, how I coveted those shoes! Bethy's mom forbade her from sharing them, and so I, along with the other six-year olds on the street, admired them from afar. They looked expensive - not the kind of shoes my parents would be able to buy me. They were rich people shoes. Still, I reasoned, it was possible for Santa, with his endless resources, to bring them to me for Christmas. I whispered my request to him when my mom took me to see him a the mall that Christmas season. Unfortunately, I didn't tell my mom what I had I asked him to bring me. I cannot remember why I didn't, but I may have had the rules regarding making requests of Santa confused with the rules on making a wish while blowing out birthday candles, where, of course, disclosing the wish will nullify it. On Christmas morning I awoke with the enthusiasm of a typical 6-year old and ran to the tree. There, underneath, were beautifully wrapped boxes of gifts that had not been there the night before. Santa had come! I tore open the boxes, growing more and more anxious as each one failed to reveal the beautiful silver shoes. Finally, there were no boxes left and, despite an array of wonderful gifts, all of which I wanted, I started to sob. My mother asked me what was wrong and I told her of the shoes and my request of Santa. Eventually, sometime between Christmas and New Year's Day, the shoes materialized. The whole experience felt horrible, however, a mixture of disappointment, disillusionment, guilt and greed, all rolled into one. And to this day, whenever I think of it, I get that same feeling in the pit of my stomach.

This year, I managed to get Janet's gifts right. She was overjoyed to receive exactly what she had requested from Santa (a doll bed, and an outfit and hairbrush for the doll). She did, however, ask me directly why there were no gifts for her and Daniel from her dad and I under the tree. My mouth went dry and I hoped that Janet would not read anything into the puzzled look on my face as my mind raced to come up with a reason. And then, it came to me.

"Your dad and I get you RESPs for your schooling" I explained. "That way, you will have lots of money for university". She seemed to believe me, although I fully expect to find her on Wikipedia, looking up "RESP" just to make sure she is not being ripped off by her parents.

Merry Christmas, all.