I believe in Santa Claus. I really do. You don’t? Find it
all a little farfetched? Having a hard time balancing Santa with the true Christmas spirit? Well he's easier to believe in than believing in an honest politician
or a temporary tax increase. But I guess I can understand your difficulty.
Well, take a moment and consider this experience from my
past.
In December of 1999 my mind and time was occupied with studying,
classes, friends, and dating. I was more concerned with the next test or if she
would say “yes” than I was with other more pressing matters of the day.
A week or two before Christmas, my brother-in-law Paul called
with a unique request. As the manager of a furniture/electronics store, he had
advertised that the store would host Santa Claus each weekend leading up to
Christmas. Apparently as they couldn’t get the real Santa, they had hired
someone to fill in. The gentlemen they hired fit the costume almost too well,
but failed in other aspects of the role: eating the candy intended for visiting
children; falling asleep with the beard off; and a strong, offensive odor emitting from
his ample, wobbly frame.
Paul was new to our family and in the year he’d known me, it seems he failed to recognize that my 6’4” build and lack of any weight clearly weren’t ideal
Santa material - a bowl full of jelly weighed more than I did. Add in my
youthful, 25-year-old face, weak at best “ho, ho, ho,” and inexperience at
mascoting, the image doesn’t exactly conjure up memories of the perfect Santa.
But here he was pleading with me to fill the role of Santa Claus. Sensing the desperateness in his voice, I relented –well, enough to come by and at
least inspect the outfit anyhow. I’d never worn a Santa costume before; it
might be fun. And the extra cash they promised piqued my interest.
I arrived at the store and instantly found that in order to
pull off the look, we were going to need a lot of padded help by way of pillows and
blankets. With the Santa-red pants and jacket on, I was excited to attach the
ever so important iconic, white beard. But what to my wondering eyes should appear, then red and green stained candy cane whiskers . . . where my mouth was to go. Last week’s Santa apparently found slurping down a candy cane
with the beard on was appropriate. At this point walking away would have been
all too easy and equally justified, but standing there dressed as Santa, the image
began to become clearer. I would have been more at ease if the synthetic hair could have been autoclaved, but nevertheless I left with Paul's assurance that the
beard would once again gleam white when I arrived the next morning.
I apprehensively,
but excitedly arrived for my 4-hour shift and we proceeded to fill the vast voids of
the costume with pillows where my thin, wiry frame didn't quite do the job. Before too long
the laborious job was nearly complete, with only the beard and hat remaining to
complete the masquerade. I nervously grabbed the beard to find sweet, sweet
white hair had replaced juicy red and green candy cane drippings. The beard did
reak strongly of bleach and the stringy, fiberglass spun fibers annoyingly invaded
my mouth, but the tradeoff was a welcome one.
The job complete, I emerged from the back room for all to see. For the first time in my life, I
couldn’t see my feet. I had face full of hair. And I had reached the age of senior citizenry . . .
The day turned out
to be a quiet one. All told there were maybe a few last-minute Christmas shoppers who visited
the store. At most they smiled or muttered a casual “Hi Santa,” as they
completed their transactions. I spent most of my time outside waving to cars and actually enjoyed every minute of filling in for the man from the North Pole.
At one point a car loaded with some large Polynesian men pulled up. Fearing the worst, I was relieved when I found they simply wanted to say hi to Santa. From several passing came some rather offensive gestures. Who waves to Santa like that? And Oh and my
appearance may have indirectly caused a fender bender.
Shortly before my shift was complete, a well dressed woman arrived to make
a purchase. Upon completing her transaction, she stopped to say hello. I stood to greet her and recognizing she wished to speak with me as opposed to Santa, I removed the beard. She asked if I would be
there if she returned in 20 minutes or so. Smiling, I assured her I
would be.
True to her word, this shopper arrived with two small
children and an older daughter. With bulging eyes and toothless grins, the two
smaller children were now in the presence of “the big man. The head honcho.
The connection . . .” the man himself. These children were in awe. Obscured behind the curly beard, no one
could see the ear-to-ear grin on my face. Suddenly the beard’s bleachy odor of and annoying wispy hairs ceased to bother me. My reservations at lacking an
adequate “ho, ho, ho” disappeared too. I was Santa.
The children sat on my lap and told me their Christmas
dreams. They inquired about Rudolph and all of the other reindeer. They questioned me
about a bruise my thumb sported. They cared about me and I, I mean Santa cared
about them. Santa was even serenaded with a Christmas carol or two. I ate up
every minute of their encounter with Santa Claus.
As children are prone to do, the many treats, coloring
books, and the many televisions in the store stole their attention. With the
distraction, their mother drew near to Santa and with tears in her eyes,
expressed her gratitude for my performance. She then explained that she and her
husband were in the midst of a bitter divorce. Out of spite and anger, he had
informed their innocent children that Santa Claus did not exist. In an attempt
to prove that he did indeed exist, this dedicated mother had brought her children to meet Santa Claus. Their faith restored, and mine as well, I wished
them a Merry Christmas - wishing I could do more.
Such an experience left me profoundly changed. Santa Claus was
real once again and maybe the jolly man and the true Christmas spirit could peaceably
coexist after all. I pondered the notion on my drive home. It occurred to me that
Santa is in many ways, Christ-like. Regardless the many different images of
Santa Claus, common to most nations and cultures is his love for children and
their love for him. Summed up perfectly, read the follwing comparison from
President James E. Faust:
“No one can measure
the effect of an unselfish act of kindness. By small, simple things great
things do indeed come to pass. Of course gifts given and gifts received make
Christmas special. For many children Christmas Eve is a very long night as they
look forward with eager anticipation to the gifts Santa brings, which is why
children love Santa Claus. Let me share what someone once said about Santa
Claus: ‘First of all, he's a joyous individual. People are attracted to
joyous individuals as filings are attracted to a magnet. Next, Santa Claus is
interested in making others happy. He increases the happy moments in the life
of everyone he meets. He loves his work; he gets fun out of his job. He is
childlike, simple, humble, sincere, and forgiving. Finally, he is a giver. His
philosophy is to give himself away in service. He is a friend to everyone. He
smiles. Perhaps you and I could attain greater happiness if we emulated Santa
Claus a little more, for his way is the way of the Infant Jesus also.’” ***
I’m certainly not suggesting we replace the
donkey or a shepherd figurine with a kneeling Santa in the manger, but maybe we
can find a way to allow room for both Christ and Santa during this Christmas season.
Be Good!
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***The Man Who Would Be Santa. James E Faust - First Presidency Christmas Devotional. December 06, 1998.
