Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (12 page)

With an entire line of hundreds of people all singing at the same time, I didn’t think the experience could grow any more amazing. But it did. As the line of people in front of me sang “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” I suddenly heard singing coming from above me, as well. I looked up and saw a few customers starting to come out of the shops and join in, and then even more customers. It seemed, for just a moment, that the entire mall had transformed into one giant Christmas choir.

We sang a few more songs, and then the time came for Santa to get back to work. Everyone applauded each other before returning to the stores and continuing with their shopping. They all seemed to have a little extra spring in their step, buoyed by this collective magical Christmas moment.

So from that day on, I would make certain to eat my
lunch quickly and come out to chat and sing with the crowd. Twice a day, every day, the entire mall would erupt in joyous voices singing, and waiting in line for a photo with Santa didn’t seem quite as tedious. As for me, I loved every second of it.

AFTER A FEW YEARS OF BEING A SANTA IN VAR
ious malls, my techniques became rather well-known by many parents. Some even recognized me when they saw me from the line or brought their child up for a picture and would say, “Oh, I’m so glad it’s you again! You’re really good!”

I’m just doing what Santa would do,
I’d think to myself and smile.

B
EING SANTA CLAUS HAS GOT TO BE THE BEST
job in the world. I get to spend two months out of the year hearing children’s secret wishes and their pint-size pearls of wisdom. Some of my most treasured memories are the chuckles I’ve gotten from kids just being open and honest. I never know what they’ll say or do next.

I remember once standing in the checkout line at a department store (in non-Santa clothing) when a little girl around four years old came over to me and asked sheepishly, “What’s your name?”

I looked over at her mom who was standing a few feet away, and she nodded her approval. So I bent down and replied, “Honey, who do you think I am?”

“I think you’re Santa,” she said.

“Well,” I said and grinned. “Then you’d better be really good.”

Her face lit up with pride. “Oh, I am!” she said and smiled broadly. “I’m not even peeing in my underpants right now!”

Yes, kids will say pretty much anything to Santa, much to the embarrassment of many parents I’ve met. One Christmas season as a mall Santa, I had a little girl of about six sit down and ask me, “Do you ever spank naughty girls?”

I’m sure a look of shock came through in the surprised expression on my face. This was a new one for me. “Absolutely not, sweetie,” I said. “Santa would never spank a child. Why, did someone tell you that you needed a spanking?”

She took a big breath the way young children do when they’re about to tell you an important story with lots of details. “Well, one time I got up in the night to get a drink of water, and I saw Daddy dressed up like you. He asked Mommy if she’d been naughty or nice, and Mommy said that she’d been naughty. So Daddy said that if she was naughty, then he was going to have to spank her. And then Mommy said she liked when Daddy spanked her.”

Oh, boy,
I thought, fighting back a smile. I looked up at her parents, who suddenly realized the story their daughter was spilling to Santa. The girl’s poor mother was burying her head in her husband’s chest, trying to
cover her face with her hands. The father, meanwhile, winced and turned bright red.

“Ho, ho, ho!” I said, masking a chuckle. “Sometimes, sweetheart, daddies dress up as Santa, but they don’t always get it exactly right. It takes a lot of practice. It sounds like your mommy and daddy were just playing a game. I think the next time you see something like that, you should probably just go back to bed.” And with a reassuring smile and a wink, I said in the parents’ direction, “And hopefully Mommy and Daddy will learn to play Santa Claus better next year.”

At another mall appearance, I had a series of children come up one after the other, each concerned about my weight and health. I learned later that they were all part of the same first grade class and had just finished a unit on nutrition. The first one, a little girl, had two cookies with her. She handed me one and kept the other for herself, saying, “This cookie is for you, Santa. It’s sugar-free because I don’t want you to get diet Wheaties.”

The next child, a little boy, asked me, “Do you ever get stuck in chimneys?”

Then a little girl inquired, “Do you know what your cholesterol level is?”

Finally, a boy looked me up and down and asked me with a straight face, “Santa, did you ever think of giving yourself a gym membership for Christmas?”

But perhaps my most treasured memory didn’t make me laugh so much as simply melt my heart. Children
usually meander at a normal pace up to my chair to meet me, generally with a parent holding their hand. But one little girl, probably about four years old, came running up to me at full speed in a mall in Massachusetts. Before I could even react, she catapulted up onto my lap, threw her arms around my neck, and started hugging me. So I hugged her back. After half a minute or so, I let go, assuming she would turn around and start talking to Santa, as most kids tended to do.

But she didn’t stop hugging me.

I gave her another little hug and let go again. She still continued to hug me, very tightly. By this point, the girl’s mother had walked up to the big chair, watching all this with a wide grin on her face. I smiled back and said, rather amusedly, “She’s not letting go!”

Her mother continued smiling. “She loves you, Santa. As a matter of fact, when I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, she told me that she just wanted to hug Santa. So I asked her what she wanted Santa to bring her for Christmas, and she said she didn’t know. She just wanted to hug Santa. That’s all she kept saying; she just wanted to hug Santa.”

That left me at a loss for words. After another minute or so, I asked the little girl, “So, is there anything special you want to tell Santa Claus?”

And she kept right on hugging me, without saying anything.

Another minute passed, and I said to her mother in
an apologetic tone, “I don’t know how we’re going to get the picture.”

Without missing a beat, the mother said, “Honey, turn around for the picture.” The little girl immediately let go of my neck, spun around on my lap, and leaned against me so the photographer could snap the picture. Then, right after the flash went off, she resumed her determined embrace.

Despite my multiple attempts to start a conversation with her, this little girl never uttered a single word. Eventually her mother said, “Okay, honey, let’s go.”

With that, the little girl hopped off my lap. As she began walking down the carpet, she suddenly stopped, turned to face me, and said, “I love you, Santa.” Then she turned back around and tottered off with her mother.

As I watched the two of them walk away, I thought to myself, as I have hundreds of times since,
Yes, indeed…I definitely have the most wonderful job in the world.

BESIDES BEING GOOD FOR THE SOUL, BEING
Santa is downright fun. My research is
toys
, for goodness’ sake!

Santa Claus needs to be the ultimate expert on toys, after all, so I do lots of research. A child might come up and ask me for a perennial favorite like an American Girl doll, of which there are many kinds. I’ll nod and say, “Which one?” Imagine the look on a little girl’s face
when I suggest that she might want Molly, who has brown hair just like she does, or Julie, who is from San Francisco where the little girl lives, or whichever new doll just came out that year. Sure, many boys want the ever-popular Optimus Prime Transformers action figure, but I need to be just as knowledgeable about Bumblebee, Wheeljack, or Starscream (just to name a few), in case I get a rogue request. I’ve also done my homework on the classics and know lots about the history of favorites like Barbie, G.I. Joe, and Slinky, which never fails to amaze my young visitors.

In order to keep my expert status, I constantly read up on the hot new toys online and subscribe to every toy catalog you can imagine. Throughout the year, I’ll slip into the toy departments at Target, Walmart, or the big toy stores like Toys“R”Us to see what’s front and center on the shelves. I try to do these visits on the sly, early in the morning or late at night, so the children don’t see me.

A couple of times during the year, however, I go to the toy stores during the daytime to get an idea of what children really like, straight from the source. While I’m there—especially if it’s near Christmastime—the kids inevitably mob me, even though I’m dressed in regular clothes. The funny thing is that many of them see it as an impromptu opportunity to put in their requests. I can’t tell you how many times a child has walked up to me in the toy aisle, held up something they’re excited about, and said matter-of-factly, “I want this one!”

THEN YOU HAVE ALL THE FUN BELLS AND WHIS
tles that go along with being Santa. As both a techie and an actor, I get a real kick out of the Santa Claus gear, starting with the most important piece of all: the red suit.

My first Santa suit, as you know, was a gift from my friends at the radio station in Charleston, South Carolina. It didn’t take me long after appearing more often as Santa to realize that one suit was
definitely
not enough.

I often wonder how my fellow Santas and I manage to keep our rotund body shapes with the ridiculous amount we perspire under all those bulky layers and fur trim during the Christmas season. If you think about it, Santa Claus’s suit needs to keep him warm as he travels around the world during wintertime in an open sleigh, or while he’s at home in the frosty North Pole. But once Santa walks into a nice, toasty house or sits in front of hot camera lights, the need to bundle up disappears, and you’re left with one sizzling Santa. Fortunately, perspiration doesn’t show through velvet. But just because people don’t see it doesn’t mean that Santa’s not baking like a rotisserie chicken inside his suit!