Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (16 page)

B
Y 2008, I’D DECIDED TO GIVE MY ROLE AS A
mall Santa a rest. It had been a great run, despite the bumps in the road of the past two seasons, but I sensed it was time to try a new adventure. I wanted to do something that allowed me the more personal interactions I enjoyed during my home visits and in-person appearances. My experience in the church had restored my faith, and now what I needed to nurse my newly revived Christmas spirit was the best medicine of all: the sweet sound of children laughing.

And so I accepted a job as a Santa-in-residence at a very friendly, enterprising photography studio that was set up inside a mall but wasn’t part of the mall operation itself. It was perfect for me—all of the festivity with none of the high-pressured rushing.

I loved the shop’s warm, wonderful atmosphere. The
staff there was thrilled when I offered to get down on the floor to play with a stubborn toddler in order to give him a chance to warm up to me and take a happy picture. I did this a few times in different ways with different children, and by my second day, the photographers no longer bothered trying to pose me with the kids. I would simply interact with them in whatever ways seemed most comfortable for them, and the photographer would follow the action and get a series of precious candid pictures.

It helped that I would start playing with the children while they were still in the waiting area, as I hung out there between portrait sessions. I did funny Santa voices and we sang songs together. I’d like to say that it was all for the benefit of the kids, but really, I was having an equally good time! This kind of lighthearted merriment was
exactly
what this Santa needed. I felt relaxed, happy, and inspired to have fun again, which is how the spinach cookie story came to be.

Children love to be told stories, and, I figured, who better to tell a tale than Santa Claus himself? So while driving home one night, I came up with a story that I could tell to children while they were waiting for their parents to choose picture styles and pay before the photo session began. Since then, I’ve told this story probably hundreds of times, and to this day it remains the most frequently requested of all my Santa Claus tales.

It goes like this…

As the children sit around me, usually cross-legged on the floor in a circle, I ask them, “Do you want to hear the story about the
spinach cookie
?”

They shout, “YES!”

“Well, you know, kids always ask me what’s my favorite kind of cookie, because they want to know what kind of cookies to leave out for me when I visit them on Christmas Eve. Now, who here likes chocolate chip cookies?” A few children will raise their hands. “How many of you like Oreo cookies?” A few more will raise their hands. “How about gingerbread cookies? Christmas sugar cookies? Do you like the ones with the M&M’s in ’em?” By this point, all the children have probably raised their hands multiple times.

“So you can see just how hard it is for me to make up
my
mind when children ask what’s my favorite cookie. But I
can
tell you the story of the
worst
cookie I ever ate. It was about—oh, I don’t know—maybe fifty years ago. Which seems like a long time to all of you, but it’s just the blink of an eye to me. There was this little girl named Molly—she was about six or seven years old at the time—and she lived in a small town in Ohio. One day, Molly visited me at the mall with her parents, sat on my knee, and told me that she wanted an Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas.

“And I said, ‘What are you going to use the Easy-Bake Oven for?’ I figured she was going to say that she would help bake things for her family. But instead, she
said, ‘If you leave me an Easy-Bake Oven, Santa, I’ll use it to make you some Christmas cookies! They’ll be the
best
cookies you ever had, I promise!’

“Ho, ho, ho!” At this point in the story, I always laugh and look around at all the children. “You all know how much I like cookies! So I saw this as a chance to make a little investment. That year, I left Molly an Easy-Bake Oven. And you know what happened?

“I came back to visit the next year, and as I’m putting presents underneath Molly’s tree, I look over to notice, right next to the fireplace, there was a little table sitting there with milk and cookies on it.

“Well, you know how much I love cookies and milk! So I hurried to put all the presents under the tree, and all the time I was thinking about how good those cookies were going to taste. Once I was finished with the presents, I went over to the table and saw a note next to the cookies. And the note said: ‘Dear Santa, I made you these cookies with my Easy-Bake Oven. I hope you like them. Thank you so much! Love, Molly.’

“And I thought, ‘How sweet of Molly to remember that she promised to make me Christmas cookies.’ So I took off my glove, reached over, and picked up the first cookie. It looked so good and I was so excited to taste it. And then I put it in my mouth and bit down into the
worst
cookie I ever tasted. Do you know why?”

And everyone will ask, “Why?”

“Molly made spinach cookies!”

A giant chorus of “EWWWWWW!!!” invariably follows.

And I reply, “That’s what I said! You know, spinach is good for you, and cookies are good, but the two of them should
never
be put together. So I just couldn’t eat it. But I didn’t want to break Molly’s heart because she was such a sweet little girl to think of me. So you know what I did? I drank the glass of milk, and I took the cookies with me up the chimney. When I got to the roof, I broke them up into pieces and fed them to the reindeer. But it turns out that wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did. You know why?”

“Why?” they ask, their little eyes wide with anticipation.

“Spinach gives reindeer gas!” And the children all laugh because nothing in the world is funnier to a child than a good toot.

“And so I called them all by name: On Dasher! On Dancer! And all of a sudden, I hear
PLBTTTT
!!!” and I make a raspberry noise with my tongue and lips. “And I said, ‘Wait a minute, what was that?’ I looked around, because I’m wondering if somebody had hopped into my sleigh. But I didn’t see anybody. So I continued, ‘On Prancer! On Vixen!’ and I hear another
PLBTTTT
!!! And that’s when I realized it was the
reindeer
.

“And oh, the
smell!
It wasn’t a good one, if you know what I mean. It didn’t smell like cookies! And I had to ride around the entire world all night long smelling
reindeer toots!” By this point, the children are rolling around on the floor laughing, and I’m usually having a hard time keeping a straight face myself.

In all the years I’ve been telling this story, the funny-bone tickling sound of children’s giggles never fails to do my heart good. Sharing a laugh with kids is a delightful way to put the merry back into one’s Christmas!

P
EOPLE ASK ME ALL KINDS OF QUESTIONS
about being Santa Claus, from how many pajama visits I can squeeze into a single Christmas Eve (more than a dozen) to how often I have to trim my beard (about three times a year). I’m always happy to answer any question about my Santa adventures, and most are pretty easy. But as the country headed into a recession, I found myself being asked some interesting questions about the role of Santa in tough times that made me stop and think.

One recent conversation in particular stands out in my mind. An acquaintance of mine had read an article discussing the effect that the tightening economy had on children at Christmas. She asked me, “Have kids changed what they tell you they want for Christmas?”

At first I wasn’t sure what she meant. “You mean, are there different kinds of toys out there?”

“No, no,” she explained. “I mean, with the economy and all, do they ask for fewer toys, or do the parents take you aside and tell you to try to steer their kids away from expensive gifts for Christmas? I’ve been reading that these kinds of things are happening, and I’m curious what you’ve seen.”

I thought about it for a few moments. To be honest, I hadn’t really noticed any change in the kinds of things kids had been asking me for. And no parent has ever told me to steer their child toward fewer presents or less expensive toys on their Christmas list. I guess I should have expected that, given the state of the world and all, but surprisingly, it never happened.

In my personal life, I’ve certainly had plenty of friends over the years who have tightened their own belts in order to give their children a few extra goodies on Christmas. Heck, I’ve even had to do it myself in lean times. But as Santa, I’ve never—not once—had a parent even mention their finances to me. No matter what might be going on for them behind the scenes, when I’m there visiting with their children, they seem to put their worries on hold for a bit and simply enjoy seeing their kids have fun with Santa.

I think that for both children and parents, Santa Claus represents a welcome distraction from the harsher realities of life that many of us have to deal with. Children
can tell Santa Claus their hopes and dreams the same way they might wish upon a star. And most parents wouldn’t ever want to dash those dreams or put limits on their children’s innocent optimism. Even in tough economic times—perhaps especially then—Christmas and Santa Claus represent a shining ray of hope. Sure, Santa might not give a child everything he or she wants, and honestly, I don’t think that many children truly expect that. To their little minds, though, it can’t hurt to at least ask, right?

But what happens when a parent has no money
at all
to spend on any Christmas toys, when even a tree or a wreath is a distant and unrealistic dream? I met someone like this several years ago, someone who needed more than just a little Christmas magic. She needed a full-on Christmas miracle from Santa Claus himself.

ALTHOUGH THE ECONOMIC RECESSION WOULDN’T
officially hit for another few years, there were still many folks struggling financially back in 2003. In fact, my family was among them. I no longer owned any small businesses, and the technology company I had worked for the year before had downsized a large number of employees, including me.

My Christmas season Santa Claus appearances wouldn’t kick into gear for another couple of months, so
I got myself a job driving a cab. It wasn’t a high-paying job, but it did help keep food on the table, and the hours were somewhat flexible. My fares seemed generally agreeable and friendly, especially to a driver who looked like Santa Claus. Of course, many times the folks in my cab didn’t even see my face because it was either nighttime or simply because the back of my head faced them for most of the ride.

However, sprinkled throughout my runs came a smattering of regular customers whom I got the chance to know a little better—including one that would help make my Christmas that year very memorable.

On a chilly morning run in early November, my dispatcher sent me to one of the poorer neighborhoods in town. As I arrived in front of a large apartment complex, I saw a young woman walk out, holding the hand of a small girl who looked about four years old.