Yes Sophia, there is a Santa Claus, and you know him.
You might remember this story, because I told it years8 ago. But that was in the early days of A News Cafe, and only a few people ever got to read it. So today, I’m bringing it back for an encore because it’s such a cool story; one that deserves to be shared with every parent of a young child who’s getting to that age.
That doubting age.
Due to an incredibly fortunate set of situations, my daughter is going to believe in Santa Claus for her entire life. For one thing, there really was a Saint Nick. I visited his hometown decades ago when I was in my vagabond, world traveling stage of life, long before my daughter was a spark in my fallopian tube.
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The original Saint Nicholas.
Saint Nicholas was born around the year 270 AD in a village named Patara. His town isn’t the snowy landscape you were probably imagining though. Patara is located in what is today the southwest coast of Turkey, but over the years that same patch of sand has belonged to Greek and Roman rulers. But today, its Turkey.
As the story goes, Saint Nicholas was a generous soul who dropped sacks of gold coins through the window into the homes of some impoverished young girls for three nights in a row so that their parents could afford a dowry for them. When I heard the story from a tour guide who drove me around the ruins of Patara, he left out the creepier part of the legend, which is that the reason the dowry was needed was because otherwise the girls were going to be forced into prostitution. I’m not really sure that being a child bride during ancient times was much better, but I digress. Anyway, this is part of the reason that Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of children. He’s also the patron saint of fishermen, the falsely accused, brewers, pharmacists… and broadcasters.
So the dude is, well was, real.
Second, as is legendary knowledge worldwide, at some point Santa moved to points further north, and now resides somewhere in Alaska. For many years, so did we. Right there, in Santa’s shadow.
The third and most important reason that Sophia will defend Santa’s honor for the rest of her days is because she was lucky enough to be surrounded by people who had a serious commitment to their village, its people, and the customs we celebrated. One of those wonderful people was Santa.
Santa lived out of town a ways, and for most of the year he oversaw the fish hatchery. I don’t want to say exactly where Santa and his wife keep the home fire burning, because I can see how it might result in Santa stalkers and paparazzi. Mrs. Claus definitely wouldn’t appreciate that. But I used to see Santa almost every day when I was a substitute school bus driver, because his house was the last one on my route, and I turned that big bus around in his roomy driveway, right in front of Santa’s house.
Santa was the full package. Lots of white hair, a full, bushy beard, and his wife kept him well fed. He had an authentically jolly attitude, and really loved people. He was also perfectly happy to put on a red suit every December and head into town for hours and hours of conversation with young children who had long wish lists and stories about how good they’d been all year. Santa knew better. He’s no dummy. But he was a great listener, always optimistic, and always game.
Sophia’s friend Santa (and helpers) in Petersburg, Alaska. Photo credit: Klas Stolpe
Here’s an example. Christmas 2001. Sophia had just turned four. For the first time since her birth, we were planning to spend the Christmas holiday with my family in Oregon. We were planning to head out of town on the mid-week ferry.
The Saturday before we left, I took Sophia to a holiday bazaar in the community gymnasium, where she picked out a lovely handmade scented candle with peppermint candies embedded in the side as a gift for her aunt Dana, who was also traveling from her home to be with us at my parent’s over the holidays. It was the first gift she’d ever picked out for anyone ever, so it was a big deal for her.
The next day, we went to the grocery store. Sophia, was still small enough to sit in the seat of the cart with her legs poking through the teeny holes. I was pushing her down the produce aisle when she grabbed my arm and exclaimed in a wonderous stage whisper, “Mama, look! It’s….SANTA!”
Sure enough, there he was, picking out carrots with the missus. He was out of uniform, in a plaid shirt and jeans, but Sophia still recognized him. Probably because of his eyes (how they twinkled) and his beard (white as the snow). And of course, that belly (which really did shake like a bowl full of jelly).
“We need to tell him we won’t be here this year for Christmas,” she said, sounding ever so concerned. I got it. She didn’t want him showing up at the house, squeezing down the teeny weeny chimney of our wood stove, only to find out that we weren’t home.
What’s a mom to do? I pushed my cart over towards the couple, and said, “Why hello there, Santa.” I kind of laugh now that I even thought that for a second that I needed to remind him of his position in the community. Santa was experienced. He’d had this gig for years. He greeted Sophia by name, and told her he was just picking up some carrots for his reindeer.
Sophia told Santa not to come to our house this year because we wouldn’t be there.
“Oh, so you’re visiting your grandparents in Oregon then?”
Ok. I have to admit, even I was a little surprised that Santa knew my family was in Oregon. But we did live on an island. In a little village. It’s hard to live somewhere like that without getting to know every single inhabitant and some of the intimate details of their lives whether you want to know them or not. Plus, Santa pays attention. And he knows everything.
I was trying to move on, to push that cart over towards the dairy section because I didn’t want to overstay my welcome with Santa, but before I could get away, Sophia said, “Santa? Could you do something for me? Could you take the peppermint candle to my Aunt Dana?”
Santa barely faltered.
“Well I’ll see what I can do.”
“And all I want this year is a nose like Rudolph.”
Santa laughed and said he’d work on that too, and I got the hell out of there.
The next day, there was a knock at the door. Imagine my surprise when I opened it to find Santa, decked out in blue jeans and red suspenders. He asked for Sophia, who was playing with her friend Josie in her bedroom, and their jaws dropped when I called them to the front door for a visitor. Santa told Sophia he was here to pick up that peppermint candle, which she ran off to collect. Then, with a wink of his eye and a twist of his head, he was gone. I have it on pretty good authority that he was headed back to the barbershop (Sophia’s dad was the town barber), where he was already waiting for his turn in the chair for a trim.
All she wanted for Christmas.
What a thrilling moment it was for Sophia when all her Christmas wishes came true. She woke up on December 25th in Oregon to find that very peppermint candle on the mantle at my mom & dad’s, with a note to Aunt Dana explaining that while it was a little unorthodox for Santa to deliver gifts that weren’t from him, he considered Sophia a personal hometown friend, and was happy to oblige her request. He also left Sophia a red, blinking Rudolph nose on an elastic string so she could wear it on her face. And he left my dad a bottle of Arrogant Bastard Ale in his stocking.
A few years later, when Sophia was in grade school, some kids started spreading that nasty rumor that there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. That he’s just some dude in a fat suit with a fake beard letting kids sit on his lap for a part-time job. I told her she needed to defend his honor. I reminded her that not only had she lived near him in Alaska, she’d shopped beside him at the grocery store, and he was a personal friend who’d done her a favor outside of his regular job description. Santa was real, and so was the beard.
We also talked about how even if the original Saint Nick isn’t alive today, that everything Santa stands for – the concept of Santa – is alive and well throughout the world. I told her that Santa is the spirit of giving and spreading joy, the spirit of connecting community, and even the idea that if you’re good, you are inviting good things to happen in your life. Santa is generosity. Santa is a smile. Santa is a plate of cookies or a hug or any random act of kindness. Santa is actually all year long, if we want. And don’t we?
Please enjoy my little Christmas gift to the world in the embedded playlist below, and please consider the idea of keeping the concept of Santa alive in your heart all year long.
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