Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (5 page)

If I stayed much longer, who knows what these kids would be asking next. So I quickly finished eating and got up from the table. I thanked their mom for the wonderful meal and said, “Well, it’s getting close to Christmas, and Santa has to go back to the North Pole. Merry Christmas, everyone!”

And off I went into the December night.

IT’S BEEN TWENTY YEARS SINCE THAT HOME
visit. It was the first of many, so I’ve had lots of time and chances to perfect my answers. During an unexpected Santa Claus moment at a U-Haul rental facility several years later, I figured out how to answer the all-too-common “Why didn’t I get the [insert inappropriate gift here] I asked you for?”

As I was waiting in line at the counter, I felt a pair of eyes on my back and turned to see a boy of about eight staring at me. I gave him a friendly smile and subtle wave, but the boy had a look on his face that I’ve come to know well. He knew that he’d cornered Santa, and he had an important matter to discuss.

“I didn’t get the BB gun I asked you for,” he said bluntly.

Ah. An unhappy customer. “Oh, well, you’ve got to be
really
good to get a gift like that.”

“But I
have
been good!” he said with obvious indignation. His voice carried that certain challenge in it that children can muster so well.

“Are you sure? Were you completely good
all
the time?” I asked, hoping he’d admit to doing something naughty at some point so I could get myself (and Santa Claus) out of trouble. I glanced over at his parents who were watching with amusement from across the room
as their son grilled Santa, silently praying they’d come over and lend me a hand, but no luck.

“Sure I’m sure!” he demanded. “I tried extra hard to be good all the time so you’d bring me a BB gun. And you should
know
that I was good all the time! You watch me—it says so in the song!”

It seemed as though I was being cross-examined on the witness stand by an accomplished attorney. I quickly realized that the old standby of “You’ve got to be really good” wouldn’t work this time, and I needed to think of another way of explaining why this little boy hadn’t gotten the BB gun he so desperately wanted. Even more than that, my answer had to make sense to a child and not break any of the established “rules” of Santa Claus, which included, most of all, that good children get what they want for Christmas.

I was getting a little flustered. How could I possibly explain to this boy why his parents hadn’t given him a BB gun, for goodness’ sake?

Then it hit me. Not only did I suddenly have the answer, but it seemed so obvious that it felt almost as if I’d always known this fact and had only just remembered it.

I got down on one knee and looked the little boy right in the eye. “Okay, let me tell you something really important about deciding which presents to deliver to little boys and girls. You see, Santa would never give you something that your parents wouldn’t want you to have
or didn’t think you were ready for. Many times, parents will contact Santa saying that they know their son wants a BB gun, but they’re worried that he might hurt himself with it because he’s so young. Or Santa will get an email saying, ‘My daughter is too little to have a cell phone. She might lose it or break it, even if she doesn’t mean to. We want her to learn to be more responsible and become a little older before she gets one.’”

The little boy hung on every word as I continued. “If I went against the wishes of your parents, they might not invite me into your house the next year. And that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?”

“It’d be awful!” he agreed.

“And imagine if, heaven forbid, you got hurt playing with a toy I’d given you. I’d feel terrible! So what I do is listen carefully to what children want for Christmas to give me a good idea of the kinds of toys they like. Then I try to give them appropriate presents that are as close as possible to what the children asked for.”

He nodded. “Okay, I get it.”

“So let me ask you something,” I continued. “Did you still have a good Christmas, even though you didn’t get everything you wanted?”

He thought for a second. “Yeah…”

“Well, that’s what’s important,” I said with a smile.

“But I really want a BB gun! What should I do?” he pleaded, hoping to get some advice from the big guy himself on how to work the system.

Another big question: How do I earn the toy I want? The boy had obviously been giving this a lot of thought.

This question was easy, though. “Part of what you need to do is show your parents that you’re ready for something like that. Make sure you do your chores and act responsibly. And when your mom or dad thinks you’re ready for a BB gun, one of them will get in touch with me and let me know. Does that sound fair?”

“Yeah,” he said.

By this point, the boy’s father had wandered over. As the dad heard me finishing up, I saw him smile and give me the thumbs-up, letting me know I’d done well.

I’ve used this same answer in various forms countless times over the years. In fact, I’ve actually elaborated on it a bit, like when I encounter children with a really long wish list of toys—or ones that want to know why they didn’t get everything they asked for last year. I tell them that if Santa gave them
everything
on their list, he would be spoiling them. And parents don’t like to have spoiled children any more than they like to have spoiled milk. So Santa makes sure to give just enough presents without giving too much, so that children and their parents are both happy. If children knew that they would always get everything on their Christmas list, then they would never be surprised on Christmas morning, and Santa loves to surprise children.

These days, I usually finish off by telling children the following thing, which always makes them giggle:
“You know, I’ve never had any child call me up at the North Pole and say, ‘I don’t like the present you gave me! Come back here and get it, and give me what I asked for!’ Not that I ever would, of course.”

And you know what? Almost all children accept that. When you think about it, Santa has some very ambiguous rules. So when an adult, or Santa himself, explains more clearly how things work when asking for and getting presents—just like that little boy at the U-Haul counter—most kids will say, “Yeah, I get it.”

AND THEN, OF COURSE, COMES THE BIGGEST
question of all: “Are you really Santa Claus?”

With time grizzling my beard and adding extra padding to my belly, even I’ll admit that I now look an awful lot like Santa, even in plain clothes. So I get this question
a lot,
everywhere I go. I may have made some fumbles in my early years as Santa, but after two decades of fielding questions from inquisitive children, some trial and error, and a whole lot of Christmas inspiration, I know how to answer this one. Whenever a child asks me this question, I’ll bend down so I’m at their eye level, give a wink, and whisper the truth: “Well, now…that’s for you to decide.”

O
VER THE NEXT FEW CHRISTMAS SEASONS
, my phone started ringing earlier and earlier in the year with requests for home visits. I was delighted! It became such fun, especially now that I’d perfected my private Santa appearances, right down to answering where my reindeer were parked and making a graceful exit once the kids were happily absorbed in unwrapping their toys.

One morning in early November, I received a call from a woman who began the conversation in an unusual way: “I understand you’re a naturally bearded Santa,” she said.

“Why, yes, I am a naturally bearded Santa,” I responded proudly.

The woman continued, “My son is starting to not believe
in Santa. We’ve had a few Santas come over to our house in the past, but they’ve always had fake beards. This year, he told me he’s noticed the fake beards all along, and he doesn’t think Santa exists. So I’m looking for someone with a real beard. I heard that you’re quite good with children and that you make a very believable Santa Claus.”

It happens to every child at some point. Maybe an older sibling who has outgrown Santa or a too-big-for-their-britches classmate bursts their bubble. Sometimes the Christmas season doesn’t pan out as they’d hoped and they grow skeptical. Or maybe, like Kevin, they see a bit of unwelcome reality peeking out from under the magic and they’re not quite sure what or who to believe. Their little hearts are torn as they start to wonder, “Does Santa Claus really exist?”

I wasn’t quite sure how I would convince Kevin that it was still worth it to believe in Santa Claus, but I knew I had to try. No matter their age, I believe that all children deep down
want
to believe; sometimes they just need a little help.

“I’d be happy to come there,” I told Kevin’s mother. “When would you like me to visit?”

“How about the week before Christmas. Are you available then?”

“I have a few openings left, yes. But let me make a suggestion, if you wouldn’t mind. If possible, I’d like
you to put together some information about what’s going on in Kevin’s life at the moment. The more Santa knows, the more real I’ll seem to him.”

I’d started to do this frequently with home visits, ever since I saw how revealing that little detail of knowing the kids’ 8:30 bedtime had made such a difference my first time out. Whenever there was time, I’d ask parents to put together some notes that I could review about what their children had done recently: good grades on tests, accomplishments in sports, or even things they might have gotten in trouble for during the past few weeks…anything to make Santa seem like he knew all about them.

With two weeks before the visit, Kevin’s mother had ample time to load me up with all sorts of details. I knew Kevin’s little brother was Patrick. I knew the names of all his grandparents, plus the names of his teacher, school principal, and Little League coach. I knew he misbehaved the week before at Chuck E. Cheese’s. I even knew that he had lost a tooth recently and how much the Tooth Fairy had left for him. I was ready.

A few days before Christmas, I drove to a friendly little house in a nearby town. Seeing that Kevin’s parents had left the toys for him outside in a bag, I picked up the bag, walked to the front door, jingled some bells that I now carried with me, and gave a jolly “Ho, ho, ho!”

Kevin’s mother opened the door and said, “Look who’s here!” I saw Kevin sitting in his pajamas in the
living room watching television. As soon as he heard his mother, he turned toward me.

“Santa!” he exclaimed. For a split second, he got that familiar look of awe and excitement—and then he froze. I could see the internal struggle on his freckled face. Half excited, half skeptical, Kevin eyed me warily as I went in and sat down on the sofa next to him.

“Hi, Kevin,” I said warmly. I usually brought along some candy canes to hand out to children, so I gave him one.

“Thanks,” Kevin said tentatively as he took it.

“You know, Kevin, Mrs. Claus is friends with the Tooth Fairy, and they both tell me to remind kids to make sure they brush their teeth. That way, the Tooth Fairy won’t have to give you another fifty cents for a while like she did right after Thanksgiving.” Kevin looked surprised. How did Santa know how much the Tooth Fairy had given him, and when?