Optimistic Santa
Sunday, December 14th, 2008
Santa kept his optimism there among the fenced storefronts and darkened window glass. The line to see him had dried up an hour earlier and, even then, it was a short wait. He sat alone in his padded chair at a clearing in the mall made up to resemble his workshop space at the North Pole. Children once waited nervously and impatiently with parents here during Christmases past, but now the halls and waiting area were filled with nothing but loud carpet.
Behind Santa’s high-backed chair was a wall of potted evergreens that contributed to the scene’s winterness. The treeline also partially blocked the view from passing shoppers, though the economy had done its own this season in reducing traffic. If this were the only such place to see the man himself and this was the response he’d gotten, the spirit of Christmas would be seriously threatened.
Standing in the entryway to the workshop were two helpers – older women in green sweatshirts whose essential duties were to handle the camera and help the parents choose photo packages. These women instantly became animated upon seeing the last family of the evening weaving through the empty crowd dividers toward Santa’s chair.
For children, a meeting with Santa can be considered a success if they are brave enough to sit on his lap and tell him without freezing up or being overcome with fear what it is that they want for Christmas. For parents, the experience is judged by a few other criteria. Their children’s behavior is tops on the list, followed by how well the photos turn out and the quality of Santa himself for the impression that a poor Santa leaves on a child could be a great enough let down to ruin future Christmases.
The mother in this last family of the day had already inspected the Santa on a previous walk by. The father had placed his faith in his wife’s assessment. On the moment of approach and after handing over his children, the father closely watched over the man in costume to render his own judgement. These were his impressions:
Santa was a thin man and much frailer than the traditional icon would ever be thought to be. His beard was long and white – gray in modest places close to his cheeks – and his skin pink as though it had been brushed by cold wind. His nose wasn’t pug, but it was a lighter color separate amd distinctive from his other facial features, fastened between his eyes in a foreign way – the way that a button might be.
Each child took a turn on Santa’s lap. The oldest one, a girl of six, kept her feet on the ground and barely balanced on the red-suited man’s knee. She stared straight ahead, smiled once or twice and turned slightly toward him but never made eye contact while describing the doll babies and princesses on her Christmas list.
The middle child, the blonde-headed boy, followed. He was much more comfortable. He laughed at Santa’s jokes and spoke boldly about specific toys he’d eyed, but he too looked mostly away from the bearded Claus.
The youngest child, a three year-old girl, went last and she never let her father go. She cried when he tried to put her down and dug her heels and fingers into him tightly so he wouldn’t release her to the stranger. So, at Santa’s encouraging, the entire family sat in the man’s big chair while he knelt behind them and raised his hand to his lips to denote a quiet sign.
When the last photo was snapped, Santa and the father chatted while the children waited for a parting toy and the photos were translated from camera to paper.
“So, has it been busy?” asked the man who brought his family. The answer to the question is obvious, but he’d offered it only to make small talk. He worried that the older man might consider it condescending, not harmless as he intended.
“Steady … steady,” Santa said, crumping his eyes and waving his gently in either direction. “”We’ve been busy on the weekends. The management showed me the numbers. I’ve looked at them and it’s supposed to pick up tomorrow.”
The next day was a Friday, two weekends before Christmas.
“That’s how it went last year,” Santa said. “The lines were long and they stretched down the hall.”
While Santa was talking, the father realized that this was not some imposter Santa that dreads the hours, the children and thinks only of his payday. This was an entirely different sort – the legitmate kind – who wanted to bring joy to children, who fancied himself the real and only Santa as far as the children he saw were concerned.
This is a man who said, “Have a merry Christmas,” a few thousand times a day in costume and meant each one genuinely. He was a man who wore his beard through the summer and wasn’t angered by children that called him Santa at the grocery store or at church. He’s the type of man who could be overcome with misty eyes when talking about the meaning of Christmas or his face flushed with red if he needed to be stern in correcting a child.
But there was also a tiny bit of disillusionment. The mall where he’d held children and listened to their Christmas wishes season after season was crumbling down around him. In fact, on the way out, the family whose season he made a little brighter crossed paths with a group of policemen leading a shop-lifter into an office in handcuffs. Santa’s greatest magic isn’t his ability to deliver toys to every country in the world in a single night. It might be his rigid optimism in the face of non-belief.
