A couple weeks before Christmas and it’s
back to the mall, one more trip for those last minute gifts, things we forgot,
or for those we weren’t giving to this year, except they sent something to us
first, so we feel obligated; or maybe it’s one for Dad, as I haven’t seen
anything under the tree bearing my name yet. Personally, I haven’t started my
shopping, too soon, too early, plenty of time, I’m not even sure what to get. I
know what they want, but I never buy that, not me. Though I have given them my
list, because they asked for it. But today, I’m the driver, the load master,
the carrier of bags and boxes and nothing more, just wandering the mall looking
for Christmas.
The Christmas carols rang out to my ears,
some local middle schoolers singers, but I really didn’t hear their songs, just
aware of them in the background, these untrained voices straining as I jostle
with the Christmas crowd, all those bedraggled parents with children in tow,
looking for Santa and toys to be added to their ever growing list for him, or
teens tuned out to the crowds, pushing through, their own carols blaring
through ear buds dangling from their ears, connecting them to yet another tuned
out teen, leashed perhaps, and afraid, safety in numbers; I can’t make out
their loud muffled stuff, which is ok. I wouldn’t understand it anyhow. Perhaps
they’re even shutting out Christmas; it’s just time off from school with little
to do and gifts they don’t need, maybe don’t really want, luxury gifts for the
short term in the changing trends of adolescence, soon to become passé,
obsolete, gathering dust to be moved to the back of the closet or on to
Goodwill, things they’ll never use again past the beginning of the new year,
the start of school in January.
Yet, there he is, Santa, the Clause
himself, all in red and white and perched atop a velvet throne, a line snaking
around him, a child on his knee and nervous parents snapping pictures with
their cellphones, Christmas digitally easy and convenient. He looks fairly
well, despite his age, for surely this is the same Santa of my youth by his
appearance, a right jollly old elf. I
doubt he’d remember me, though, much taller now, and heavier, sporting the
shadow of a beard myself, balder than when I last sat on his lap, years ago, my
list clutched tightly in my grubby hands so’s not to forget anything, my memory
weak even then, as it is now. But I wonder, seeing him, if he really is that
same Santa, barely aged; does he hold the secret to youth, bathes in its
fountain, or does he maybe have a son destined to replace him, preparing for
the only career option presented to him, this the son of my Santa, perpetuating
the line for years to come – oh, to be the second born and free to leave the
North Pole and the world of toy making elves, their constant pounding and
chatter, the smell of reindeer, the jingling of bells. Or perhaps this is a
more modern Santa doing his part to increase productivity and profits,
contributing his share to the American economy, yet taking the newly given tax
break and using the loopholes of the wealthy to increase his own coffers,
minimum wage, if that, for the elves whose only trade is toy making, like their
fathers before, laid off and struggling on welfare, their Medicaid and retirement
lost, or, Christmas a lucrative business, does he, too, outsource now, import
via the internet from the big box stores or use trade agreements with overseas
markets, cheaply made goods by workers cheaply paid. There are no letters sent
to Santa anymore, carefully written letters in the scrawling penmanship of
children, lovingly sent, now just emailed lists and messages posted: “Dear
Santa, I know it’s my parents who buy this stuff, but here’s what I really
want, if you’ll pass this on to them … please note the correct colors and
sizes, get it right this year, ok?”
So much I’d like to ask him, this new
Santa competing in our industrial nation, our consumer nation built on profits
– are the stories I vaguely remember true, the flying reindeer and delivering
toys around the world in a single night, and how does he fit down that chimney
with his stature? Or are these just the gimmicks of Christmas, sales promotions
to get me to buy, buy, buy, to ask for what I want, not necessarily need,
demanding it with temper tantrums and pouting, Christmas more about getting and
less about the giving, the spirit of Christmas seemingly gone from our modern
world. I want to ask him about that, that spirit of Christmas, even as I search
for it here at the mall, this December day, packed in as we are, looking for
bargains and finding none among the Christmas trees and tinsel, colored lights
and holiday decor.
So I stepped into the line to await my
time to visit him, perhaps even sit on his lap, though probably just stand,
kneel next to his velvet chair, for he looks smaller than I remember him, and
the children might think me odd, a grown man on Santa’s lap, odd enough waiting
in this line without a child I might be escorting. But I have a few questions
for him that need answers, waiting here as I am, unfazed, among the small
children in tears, clutching a parent’s hand, afraid, or eagerly waiting,
beaming, primped for a picture, believing, as I had, we all had, still want to
believe, it is the real Santa, an eternal Santa from the North Pole, filling
our stockings, leaving behind wrapped packages, bowed and tagged for us,
carefully laid beneath our tree; even drinking the milk, eating the cookies we
left for him, the sugar for reindeer, some treats to carry them around the
world and safely home to Mrs. Clause.
I feel no shame standing here in line,
hear the snickering around me, feel the pointing, the wondering what I’m doing
here, even my own wondering if my anticipation shows as we inch toward Santa,
our lists clutched in our grubby hands, or in the recesses of our minds opened
up now, remembering the sled that I wanted, electric trains and building sets,
games and puzzles and books, eagerly waiting for Christmas, being good, assured
of which list my name was written on, the good list, for hadn’t I been
exceptionally good, helping around the house, tolerating the little sister,
promising better behavior in the coming year, knowing I probably wouldn’t
behave any better, but promises count for something, don’t they, with Santa?
Even now, I’m patient and good, not rude, disrespectful like these other
children here, shoving and pushing and trying my patience, resisting the urge
to push back and finding my name quickly transferred to the naughty list, a
lump of coal for my stocking come Christmas morning. And what, if I dared,
would I ask him to bring me, to leave under my Christmas tree, wrapped and
bowed and tagged with my name?
“Sir?” a quizzical non-elf dressed in
green and pointed shoes timidly asks, wondering where my child might be hiding,
my child who’s out spending my money, promising to pay me back. “Um, you’re
next?”
So, my turn, I move forward toward Saint
Nick, tentative, and see 50-plus years dissolve in his presence, his magic, the
magic of Santa, the magic of Christmas, making me a kid again. My doubts melt
away, for here he is, Santa, sitting here in red and white, his eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how
merry, his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. Yes, here it
all is again as it always was, sitting on the lap of the department store
Santa, believing in the unbelievable, childlike wonder and belief, the whys of
Christmas, the hows of Santa not important, for this was the Spirit of
Christmas returned to me here at the mall this cold December day waiting for
Santa. I asked him no questions for I now needed no answers: a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. “Thank you, thank you, Santa.”
I shook his hand, what else could I do,
and walked away, light-hearted, smiling, chuckling to myself and clutching, it
seems, the candy cane he gave me, gave to all the good little children. And I
heard him exclaim as I walked out of sight, Happy
Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
