Santa's Shoes

The idea of Santa Claus absolutely captivates children who believe in him.  He's magical, generous, benevolent, and all-knowing.  When I speak to my children about him, they are quick to remind me of all of the uncanny insight Santa seems to have when he writes them letters.  Never mind the reality that some day they'll discover it was really their mother who has been in charge of the Santa correspondence, because for now, his ability to know that much about them, as well as their desires, their hopes, and their wishes, is nothing short of miraculous.

When my daughter was five years old, Santa came to visit the kindergarten classes in the school library.  When she arrived home after school, she insisted on providing every detail to her mother.  Santa was kind and genial and handed out candy canes to all of the students.  He waved to all the children and went about his Santa ways, but not all was well.  Apparently, "Santa" was an imposter and my five-year-old daughter had proof that she desperately needed her mother to hear.

"What do you mean, 'he wasn't the real Santa?'"  Her mother asked, trying to maintain composure.

"Well," my daughter exclaimed as she built her case.  "He wasn't tall enough or big enough to be the real Santa.  He wasn't even fat!"

"Are you sure he wasn't fat?"  Her mother prompted, completely ignoring our five-year-old's arbitrary assessment of his height.

"Yes!"  She declared, "he had a pillow under his suit.  It wasn't his real belly.  And his suit didn't look real either."

"Oh," offered her mother, "well, I'm not sure that's ..."

"And his beard was fake!"  She blurted out, cutting across her mother.  "It wasn't even a real beard!  And when he laughed," she continued, gaining momentum, "he did it wrong!  He said 'ho-ha-ho,' and not 'ho-ho-ho!' the way Santa laughs."

"Is that so?"  Replied her mother, barely concealing a smirk.

"Yes!  And when he laughed, his belly did not move!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"  She continued, "and when someone asked him about his reindeer, he said his deer were at The North Pole.  The real Santa would have said 'reindeer,' because Santa doesn't have deer!  He has reindeer!"

Thinking the story was complete, my wife composed herself for further discussion.  She decided to ask if other classmates had also noticed these anomalies.  The picture painted by my five-year-old daughter's response was one of her, and a handful of other students who were aware of these inconsistencies, but kept to the back of the group, whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves.  They knew the truth.  This man was an imposter, and everyone else was being duped!

Still clinging to the notion that she could convince our daughter otherwise, my wife then tried to offer explanations for all of these oddities through suppressed amusement, only to be greeted by the most convincing evidence of all:

"No, Mama."  She said, wearing a resolute expression on her face, as though struggling to grasp how her mother was so dismissive of such overwhelming evidence.  "He wasn't wearing Santa Shoes.  He was wearing boy shoes!"  She placed special emphasis on the last two words, nodding as though this settled things.  On top of the mountain of previously discussed evidence, the real Santa wears real Santa shoes, and there's simply no other way to see it.  

Of course he does.

The Flight of Buddy

The holiday season as a father is nothing like it was as a child.  Granted, my childhood is hardly the standard that anything should be compared to, but it's the only childhood I have, so it continues to serve as my standard for comparison.  Putting it mildly, the bar for my standard is quite low.  Imagination, fantasy, and the belief that anything was possible meant that one was gullible, and thus inferior.  It's no wonder I stopped believing in Santa Claus by the time I was seven, and the idea of an Elf on the Shelf seemed so absurd it wasn't worth discussing.

Thankfully, my children are growing up in a household with a mother determined to make childhood as magical as possible.  More importantly, my wife makes a concerted effort with holidays.  Halloween decorations are mandatory during that first weekend in October.  They remain in place until November 1st when "Halloween Season" officially comes to a close and my wife dutifully replaces them with Thanksgiving decorations.  Christmas decorations go up the day after Thanksgiving and remain in place until New Year's Day.  As a result, there is never a doubt about which holiday season we are in.

We also encourage our children's creativity, and are delighted when their imagination challenges our ideas on what is real and what is possible.  Our children write Santa Letters and mail them to the North Pole — and Santa (aka their mother) writes back!  We ride The Polar Express.  We ride The Santa Train.  We even have an Elf on the Shelf who visits us annually, but only because my children asked Santa for one in their Santa Letters.

On Christmas Eve, when my son was six and my daughter was eight, we were trying to usher them to bed so we could make the necessary preparations for the following morning.  My son, however, could not go to bed until getting in a final word with Buddy (our Elf on the Shelf) before he flew away with Santa during the night:

"Okay, Buddy!  Don't forget to tell Santa to bring me a big BB-8, okay?!" He said with gusto, immediately following by, "but a BIG BB-8!"

Apparently, he had been filled with anxiety because he forgot to list said item on his Santa Letter that he had mailed out weeks previously.  Lucky for us, "Santa" had purchased that very item several months prior when finances weren't so thin.  

Christmas morning brought on delightful elation when Santa brought each of our children an item they had specifically requested of Buddy, but none more so than the big BB-8 for our six year old son.  The delight they experienced is something they continue to generously share with us, infusing us, if only for those moments, with the joy of childhood.

Fact and Fiction

Perhaps I'm alone, but the holiday season tends to bring out some of the worst behavior in the general public.  Everyone is rushing or in some sort of hurry, and everyone seems to think they're the only ones who have somewhere to go, or obligations to meet.  This impatience and general ill-temperedness may peak on Black Friday, but that doesn't stop it from remaining in full force until after the first of the year.

That's not to say that I am this wonderful ball of joy, embracing everything good the holiday season has to offer.  As it turns out, my "bah humbug" moments usually surround Christmas Carols.  The songs are the same, year after year.  No, it doesn't matter that Bowie is singing The Little Drummer Boy, or that Justin Timberlake is on that Christmas album.  The truth is, there are only so many times one can hear a song, and though that limit is different for all, I reached my limit for Christmas Carols quite some time ago.

Rather than lament the things I dislike about the holidays, and allowing that to permeate everything I love about life, I prefer to embrace the holiday-related things I do like ... and I also share those with my children.  We do this in the form of holiday movies.  While we do have a few tried-and-true standby movies we watch annually, like Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas (1966) and A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965), it's nice when we are able to add a new movie to the holiday season rotation.

Rise of the Guardians was released in time for the 2012 holidays and my children loved it — all except for the part where the elves don't make the toys.  In the movie, the toys are made by The Yetis rather than the elves.  The elves are present in the movie, but they are depicted as inept, and also as a bit of a punchline.  My wife and I found this highly amusing, but my five-year-old daughter, in particular, did not care much for this.

One day, shortly after we had first seen the movie, my wife told my children, "you both had better behave or The Yetis will not make you any toys for Christmas."

"The Yetis don't make the toys!"  My daughter interjected.

"Yes they do," my wife reiterated.

"No they don't," my daughter said quite adamantly.

"Of course they do!"  My wife responded, "didn't you see, Rise of the Guardians?"

"Mama!"  Exclaimed my daughter in an exasperated tone, "that's just a MOVIE!  It's PRETEND!  The Yetis don't make the toys!  The ELVES do!"

Of course they do.

Who Are We Here To See?!

Traditions can be the double-edged sword of parenthood.  On one hand, you are setting up comfortable expectations of good times and family, and on the other, you are stuck in a stale rut since your routine has very little variation, particularly around the holidays.  While my children take comfort in annual events, there is a palpable lack of enthusiasm when you go to the well too many times.  There is also the reality that your children are often able to disrupt the best-laid plans of ... well, you know the rest.  Whether it's an illness, injury, or something else entirely, the numerous variables children bring into play will often take precedence over whatever plans us parents have made.

To counteract this reality, my wife and I make a habit out of keeping our best-laid plans a secret for as long as possible.  In short, everything is a surprise.  If it's a tradition or a new event, we keep them in the dark until the last minute as a safeguard against the unexpected.  When you have amazing plans thwarted by an emergency room visit or a sudden onset of the stomach flu, what softens the blow is not having to tell the children it's their fault — because it's not.  The problem is explaining that to someone who sees the world very literally (i.e. very black and white).  No amount of reassurances will undo the guilt they feel.

Long before we ever knew about The Polar Express as an option for the Christmas season, we had a tradition of going to our local train museum for The Santa Train.  Pay a few bucks, get a cool train ride on the the gold standard for transportation from a century ago, and meet Santa.  We also get to check out all the restored trains inside the museum — and my son absolutely LOVES trains.  It's hard to call that anything but money well spent.

Subsequent visits to The Santa Train notwithstanding, that first year stands out for many reasons.  My son's love affair with trains started while watching Thomas and Friends before he could speak.  When he was three, we gave him a train table for Christmas, only to be woken the next day at dawn by my son's thunderous declaration: "All the board!  Welcome to the island of Sodor!"

A year later, on that first Santa Train, we somehow managed to keep our children in the dark even after boarding the train.  When the conductor entered our car, he drew everyone's attention and asked, "Is everyone ready to meet our special guest?"

"Yes!!"  Chorused the children on board.

"Are we here to see The Easter Bunny?"  Asked the conductor playfully.

"Nooooooo!"  

"Who are we here to see?!?!"  He prompted.

Before anyone could utter a syllable, my four year old son threw both fists into the air and exclaimed, "THOMAS!!!!"

Every adult on board burst into laughter, including me and my wife.  My children were clearly the last to know who we were there to see.  Although the train we were on was really old and amazing to see in person, it was not the "Thomas" pictured here (we saved that surprise for another day).  

In the end, they were very excited to see Santa on The Santa Train, but for my four year old son, nothing quite compared to seeing "Thomas," because all trains were "Thomas" to him.