DISCOVERING SANTA CLAUS
Christopher Nyerges
[Nyerges is the author of several books, including “Watermelon
Dreams,” “Extreme Simplicity,” and “Urban Survival Guide.” This article was originally published in "Watermelon Dreams," available from Amazon. More information available at www.SchoolofSelf-Reliance.com]
Christmas
was always a special time, though in my very earliest memories, there were no
religious overtones. I was taken to
church every Sunday, of course, but the Christmas decorations and gatherings
were all something that happened at home, not at church. When I was too young to speak, I realized
that Christmas was the season that happened during the coldest time of the
year, and it meant that we’d have a fire going in the fireplace, people would
be coming over, and there’d be lots of gifts and food. The food was cookies, tangerines, and
walnuts.
One
of my earliest Christmas memories was when I was told that Santa Claus would
come to our home and bring gifts, and that he had some way to figure out where
I lived. I didn’t know exactly why, but
there was a great mystery about this fat, bearded, red-suited Santa man. People spoke about him in hushed tones, and
would even sometimes stop talking about him when I came near.
My brother
Tom told me that Santa Claus would come down the chimney – something I found
hard to believe considering how fat he appeared in the pictures. We both peered up into our fireplace one day
and wondered how Santa could get through the narrow passageway.
“Plus,
doesn’t dad have a screen over the top of the chimney to keep the pigeons out?”
Tom asked. I didn’t know. “I hope he remembers to remove it for Santa.”
On
Christmas Eve, our dad showed us a plate of cookies and a pot of coffee that
had been set out for Santa.
We
barely slept, and I tried to not sleep so I could be the first to rush out and
catch a glimpse of this Santa. But I
fell asleep, and Tom woke me and Rick.
We jumped out of bed, and ran down the hall. We weren’t particularly interested in gifts,
but we wanted to catch Santa. We were
too late, but the three of us carefully examined the remaining evidence. There were no cookies left on the plate –
only crumbs – and there was only a small amount of coffee left in the cup. Tom held the cup and carefully peered into
it, and then Rick and I stared into the cup, examining the last remaining proof
that Santa had come and departed.
“See?”
said Tom. We all continued to stare into
the cup a while longer, as if it might reveal some secrets to us.
In
a few more years, I noticed that people didn’t fully hide their comments from
me when speaking about Santa Claus.
“He believes in Santa Claus?”
was met with muffled response. What an
odd question, I thought. Why shouldn’t I believe in Santa Claus?
When
I actually learned about this mythical aspect of Christmas, I did go through a
period of confusion and even anger at the world of make-believe perpetrated
entirely by adults and foisted upon me.
I suppose I felt bad because I really wanted to believe in Santa Claus, and I felt that he was a positive
figure. And I had been told to “be good”
for Santa Claus, and that Santa Claus knew everything I was doing. I was very puzzled by all this, but I got
over it.
In
fact, I felt very uplifted when I learned that there was an actual historical
person upon which Santa Claus was based: a Catholic bishop in Asia Minor
(Turkey) of the 3rd century named Nikolaos of Myra gave gifts to
poor newlyweds around Christmas time. A
century or so later, sainthood was bestowed upon him, and he was known as Saint
Nicholas. In honor of this very real
person, people began to give gifts to others, especially others in need, during
the Christmas season and say it was “from Saint Nicholas.” What a wonderful story! What would have been wrong with telling me
that historical story rather than the garbled mythology?
