Santa's Got Your Number
An Essay by Stephen Geez
www.StephenGeez.com
Art by Moonfire
www.MoonfireArtStudios.com
Santa’s got your phone number, which means he really cares.
In my mid-20th-century suburban Midwest childhood, Santa Claus was known for visiting homes one night a year to leave gifts for children. The practice supposedly included notions about “being good,” but kids young enough to believe in Santa tend to be good anyway, so none of us worried about meeting standards so vague as to fail constitutional muster.
The whole Santa fantasy is a nice tradition, harmless in that children are expected to outgrow it. I did, a bit sooner than most of my age-peers. I tended to assume the wizard to be a man behind a curtain, a tendency to seek truth in a logical world that I proudly practice to this day. Still, with Santa I played along for several more years, happy to enjoy both the ritual and its largess. You can’t fault people doing something nice for others and not even expecting the credit.
The reason I know Santa has people’s numbers is because he called me one year when I was young enough to believe in the jolly old elf. My parents had amassed some great goodies to leave ’neath the tree overnight, but at the last minute I surprised everyone with the previously unmentioned expectation of a Radio Flyer-styled red wagon. Hear tell, it quickly became an obsession, the only thing I wanted that year.
And nary a retailer had one left in stock.
I do know that great effort went into finding me one. A bit more notice might have helped, but alas, no red wagon would appear under the family tree that year, regardless of Santa’s vast resources. I would be one seriously disappointed “good boy.”
That’s when I got the call. Imagine everybody’s surprise when the phone rang on Christmas Eve and it turned out to be Santa himself! On the busiest night of the year, he’d not delegated, but rather set aside the time to talk to me personally.
Santa wanted to convey his regrets. He had hoped very much to bring me a red wagon, but all sorts of unforeseen circumstances had conspired to interfere. I don’t recall the details: materials shortages, elfin labor strife, manufacturing disruptions, quality-control concerns, sleigh-capacity limitations, arctic headwinds, licensing and trademark disputes—whatever the problems, they would deprive me of my prized toy.
But something rather cool came out of it: I felt pretty good to know that Santa cared. He assured me that he had lots of other nifty toys just for me, and that he’d personally made the list and checked it twice. Thus, if I would defer my wagonly dreams for an upcoming birthday or maybe next Christmas, he would guarantee me some wonderful surprises right there under the tree tomorrow morning.
I was down with that. Heck, the call itself had proven quite a treat.
Most families have a storyteller, and in mine it was Uncle Norman, Dad’s brother. Many decades later, I heard him telling holiday tales, including a brief little gem about the time he played Santa Claus over the telephone. Back when I’d figured out the truth about Santa, I’d not thought about that call and how both of my parents had been in the room when it came. Sure, I’d been tricked, but what a nice trick, everyone working together to manage my expectations, to make sure I wouldn’t wake to disappointment.
Everybody in my small world back then celebrated Christmas as I knew it. Now half a century later, I have quite a variety of friends and acquaintances practicing myriad faiths or none at all, as well as countless variations within the most common religions. Each December I select a small group to receive my cards, usually with a sentiment along the lines of “Happy Holidays.”
Sad to say, every now and then someone finds in that a reason to be offended.
You see, the winter solstice has long been a “holiday” period for celebrations in nearly all cultures. In Western societies, they’re followed by the onset of the New Year, a two-day celebration. From ancient traditions such as Hanukkah to newly formed observances like Kwanzaa, this is the month of important dates.
Around A.D. 400 or so, the Catholic Church co-opted the solstice-period Pagan celebrations by declaring it to be a time to commemorate Jesus’s birth. Since then, “Christmas” has changed considerably. It has fallen in and out of favor, been outlawed several times—the mid-1600s Protestants of the Massachusetts Colony even declared celebrating it to be a criminal offense— and grown to incorporate an ever-shifting variety of rituals and fun practices, both religious and secular. Politics, class protectionism, superstition, literature and the arts, and even naked commerce are but a few of the influences shaping the “holidays” of today.
One Christian berated me for my Happy Holidays card because it “removes Christ from Christmas,” a viewpoint that sometimes generates controversy and hard feelings in the public square. One woman politely suggested “holidays” implies an exclusion of Hanukkah, as though I’d forgotten she is Jewish and good wishes intended subterfuge. One atheist told me “holiday” is singular for him, as New Year’s covers his belief system—never mind that New Year’s Eve also counts as a holiday—but most of the non-religious I know enjoy celebrating the Christmas of decorations and gifts and expressions of love for family and friends. What’s ironic here is that I do pay attention to what people believe, but none of that matters because I don’t decide to extend goodwill based on my approval.
Happy Holidays means just that, whatever you celebrate, however you believe. Likewise, I really appreciate people making the effort to wish me something good, no matter what they call it. I’ve never actually observed Hanukkah myself, but I adore the friends who wish me a fine one every year.
Wouldn’t it be a sad world if nobody cared enough to send you a single card?
Wouldn’t it be a sad world if nobody cared enough about a child to search for a red wagon, then arrange for Santa Uncle to break the bad news?
If you’re lucky enough to receive a holiday card from me, take it in the spirit it’s intended.
It means somebody cares.
It means Santa’s got your number.
I wish you all the best.
Ho ho ho.
Happy Holidays!
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© The Fresh Ink Group, LLC, 2011
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