Musings
A bi-weekly column for The Richmond Review newspaper. It appears every second Saturday.
Rough Night for Santa
Does his ego get bruised from being confused for a mere mortal called Uncle Dean?
This column appeared in The Richmond Review December 24, 2005.
When it's announced at our annual Cousins Christmas Dinner that Santa will be arriving soon, my precocious four-year-old niece Hanna practically dances with anticipation. “Uncle Dean is going to turn into Santa!” she cries.
Uncle Dean is Santa? Her seven-year-old brother Matthew motions me over, with the look of a boy who needs to spill a secret. “Auntie Gloria, I have to tell you something. Uncle Dean is Santa.” A few feet away, I hear six-year-old Justin asking his father Dean, “Are you going to be Santa?”
Santa is a popular guy this time of year. But I wonder if he ever gets overwhelmed by that popularity - what with all the repeated requests for peace on Earth, toys for billions of children, and now, this case of mistaken identity. Does his ego get bruised from being confused for a mere mortal called Uncle Dean? How will he fare at this Christmas celebration? Fourteen children - nephews, nieces and first cousins once removed (yes, this is the proper name for the children of your first cousins, even though they call me Auntie) - are gathered in the living room, a special chair set aside for his visit. And those who are old enough to talk are quick, savvy and full of personality.
Santa arrives in his usual outfit - red suit, white beard - with a puffy, yet strangely rectangular tummy. And just like the moment when the emperor is caught without his clothes, Hanna cries out to a hushed crowd, “It's Uncle John!” There is a split second of silence.
Then: Waaahhh! Ryan, Uncle John's 11-month-old son, doesn't like the strange man in the funny-looking suit. As he is comforted, Hanna leans in to me and repeats, in a whisper this time, “That's not Santa. That's Uncle John.”
Yet, when she's called to sit on his lap, she doesn't seem so sure. Suddenly shy and silent, she accepts her gift. As does her four-year-old cousin Katie, without a word. Is this man the real Santa? Or is it Uncle John playing him? Which Santa is it?
Seventeen-month-old Ashley knows. She bursts out crying in the stranger's lap. Tears and screams come from Ryan again as well, placed in Santa's lap. Santa tries to smooth out the situation, offering a steady stream of conversation. “Are you going to come visit me in the North Pole?” he asks the children. “I need helpers.”
“How much does the job pay?” asks 11-year-old Cameron, without skipping a beat.
Cameras flash. Video cameras whir.
“Your belt fell off,” notices Cameron.
Santa doesn't answer.
“Your belt fell off,” joins six-year-old Michael.
Suddenly, Hanna and her other four-year-old cousin, Nicole, have surrounded Santa. “You're Uncle John! You're Uncle John!”
Hanna grabs Santa's belt, now dangerously close to falling to the floor. “Do your belt!”
Uncle John's 26-month-old son Adam is oblivious to the drama unfolding behind him, playing with two articulating wooden snakes, his gift from Santa still unopened on the coffee table in front of him.
“Do your belt!”
“You're Uncle John!”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
It's time for Santa to leave.
“Rough crowd,” Uncle John #2 offers Santa as he weaves his way out of the living room, Hanna and Nicole hanging from his thighs. Uncle Dean intercepts and Santa is allowed to return to the night sky.
Upstairs a few minutes later, I see Uncle John #1 in his striped button down shirt and faded jeans, trying to coax Nicole out of Santa's black vinyl boots as she does circles around him.
Tough job?
“Yeah, I'd say that was one of the toughest jobs I've had.”
Adam toddles by with his two wooden snakes, no sign of his present from Santa. I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas plays softly in the background.
Merry Christmas to Santa and all the Uncle Deans and Johns who help him out.