Christmas Narrative 2018

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!