I saw him from across the park and thought it might be
him. But it wasn’t until he slid onto
the bench on the opposite side of the picnic table, at the other end,
appropriately distanced and masked, that I knew for sure. His eyes gave him away. I’d given up on seeing Santa this year.
“I thought it might be you.
How did you find me?”
“Come on McClure, I’m Santa.
I know things.”
“You know things about kids.
I’m 69. Not a kid any longer.”
“You are to me. Seems
like yesterday I was landing the sleigh on your parent’s farmhouse between
Bloomington and Pekin. Big white house,
but the barn was taller. Had to come in
from the east. Do you remember that
cowboy outfit? Boots? Fake pinto horsehide vest? Silvery tin cap guns in double holsters?”
“Oh God, I do now. I was
maybe six years old. That would be 1957.
I’d almost forgotten. You’re showing off
Santa, you really do remember everything.
What are you doing here?”
“Trying to stay relevant.
It’s been a tough year. Even for an
immortal myth like me.”
After I swim laps at the YMCA I sometimes swing by the river
walk along the Fox. I get out of
the car and sit at the same picnic table near the splash pad. Swimming is the only consistent activity I
have, and most days the lap swimmers in the pool and the lifeguards are the
only people I have contact with besides my wife.
It was a few days before Christmas. I was sitting at that picnic table to clear
my head, or better said to open it up.
2020 has been a god-awful year. Some
days I feel like I’ve lost a chunk of my life. Watching the river go by like nothing has
happened is comforting. This day slivers of ice were forming by the bank.
“You don’t look like you’re doing so good McClure.”
Santa is not usually that blunt. I took a long look at him. He was wearing bib overalls. He thinks he blends in when he does
that. The mask didn’t cover his beard. He’s a different person when he’s not in
costume.
“As a matter of fact, neither do you big guy. What happened to that twinkle in your
eye? The old Ho Ho Ho?”
He didn’t respond.
“And you’re still not telling me why you’re in Ottawa.”
“Well, I snuck in to do an event, you know, like I do
sometimes. I blend in with the fake
Santas. It helps keep me on my game,
being up close and personal with kids and their parents.
“Somebody at Opportunity School asked me to show up for what
they called a “Drive By” event. I’ve helped
them before. In the past, they have set me up in a nice chair in front of the fireplace in the
library. I talk to the kids as a group,
then individually. It’s one of the
nicest gigs I’ve ever done. And they
seem to like it.“
“So how was it?”
“So different. I
mean, they were glad to see me., and surprised.
Except for the ones who are afraid and hide their eyes, but that happens.
We talked. But it wasn’t close. I tried to talk with my eyes, like veiled
Arabic women do, but how much came through I don’t know. They wear their masks well, those kids, better
than some adults. But it muffles their little voices. I have enough trouble hearing them when they
talk right into my ear.”
Santa was wound up.
“And no touch. I
stood on the curb, they stayed in the car.
I passed candy canes through the open window. Some of the parents tried to get pictures.”
He shook his head.
“It’s not only that they couldn’t be close to me; they
couldn’t be with each other. Their school is closed because of the virus and
the teachers are doing all they can to keep them engaged. They gave their
students bags of small presents and activities.
And the parents gave the teachers presents too.
But the kids are not only separated from their teachers; they
are separated from their classmates. And
being with each other-playing, sharing, working things out-is the most
important part of Opportunity School. They’re missing it.”
Santa looked across to the far riverbank rising above the
water. I felt like I needed to say
something.
“You’ve been through this before right? I mean Polio in the 1950’s, the Spanish Flu
in 1918, hell the plague in Europe. What
was it, Black Death? That started in the 1340’s and wiped out a third of the population of Europe. You were around for that right?”
“Sure, I was there for all that. My myth goes back to 280 A.D.. That’s 1,740 years of history. I’m not saying I haven’t seen waves of death
and disruption like this before, but this one really slapped me in the face.”
I love it when Santa talks about the old days.
“The world was so much smaller when the plague hit, and so less
equipped to respond. They couldn’t
communicate well, they didn’t understand science, people were illiterate, they
had no medicines to speak of. The world
was a whole different place. And I was just
flying a small delivery loop starting in Scandinavia down to the Mediterranean
coast and into Turkey. Tiny group of
believers then, my story was only spread by word of mouth. The job of being Santa was so simple.”
“Where are you going with this Santa?”
He looked down at the top of the picnic table. The city paints them green every year, coat
after coat of glossy green paint. Then
he looked up.
“Your country has messed this pandemic up so badly. You’re the richest, most developed country in
the world. You have the capacity to do
anything. You’re not the best country
mind you, but you have such potential.
Do you know you have 5% of the world’s population and yet you’ve
suffered 19% of all the deaths from Covid?
338,501 deaths. “
Santa shook his head.
“So unnecessary. So
unhinged. You’ve bungled testing and
contact tracing. Your infection rate,
because of Christmas celebrations, WHICH I AM THE SYMBOL OF, BY THE WAY, is going
to go through the roof in January. You are spreading disease in my name. I feel complicit. The worst is likely ahead for you screwy
Americans. And you want me to smile and be
jolly? You want me to make Christmas
merry?”
He was by now raising his voice and pointing his finger at
me as he made his points. I’d never seen
Santa angry. He was losing it, totally
out of character.
“Yeah, Santa. As a
matter of fact, we do. You think I can
control it? You think those kids and
their parents at Opportunity School, or their teachers, are part of the
problem? They’re not. We’re all victims in this.”
I’d gotten him to listen at least.
“It’s a virus Santa, and ironically America’s freedoms and
our sense of entitlement have made it worse.
Yes, we’ve had terrible leadership.
Yes, we bungled it from the start.
You’re right. We should have done
much better. But what do we do now? We’re replacing the head of our
government. Give us credit for that. We’re trying to turn this around. You going to help us? Or are you going to be part of the problem?”
Santa was looking straight at me. I thought I saw tears in his big old blue
eyes. He let out a big sigh and
responded.
“You know what I’m going to do. I’m going to go out there and promote the
spirit of Christmas. It’s my
identity. It’s why I exist.”
He hung his head. I
gave him my handkerchief. He pulled down
his mask and gave his red nose a big blow.
“Now tell me something good that’s happened.”
I felt like I was
doing youth counseling again, but with a 1,740 year old man.
“Come on. It’s never
all bad. Tell me something good.”
Santa leaned back, took a big breath, looked up at the sky.
“I’ve got this group of young elves up at the North
Pole. Always on the computer. They figured since we can’t promote seeing
Santa in person, because it draws crowds and promotes more infection, we could
do it through technology. They come up
with the idea of “Santa on Zoom.”
“Great idea.”
“They fix up a corner of the workshop as a sort of studio,
decide on a camera angle, put some colored lights behind me, and we book some
dates. They teach me the basics, when to
mute people, how to look into the camera, and we start.”
He smiles for the first time since he sat down at the picnic
table.
“The first session we do is an extended family, multiple
kids at four or five sites. Everybody
talks at once. I try to talk to one kid
at a time and others interrupt. They
disappear from the screen, reappear, I don’t know what I’m doing, I fake it, do
the Ho Ho Ho’s.”
“OK, and what did they think of it?”
“They loved it. I
don’t know why.”
“Go on. Tell me about
another one.”
“We connected with a family of five. Mom and Dad on either end of a big
couch. Their kids in between-ages 7, 5, and
almost 3. It started really well. They were in awe to see me on screen, and I talked back, saying their names. I knew about them of course and
started asking personalized questions.
That impressed them.”
“You’re good at that.”
“But the youngest boy, almost three, figured out how the
camera worked and began to hog it. I was
talking to the 7 year-old boy about football, and the young kid interrupted,
put his face in front of the camera, blocking everything else out, and told me
in a loud voice he was leaving me cookies.
His brother was so patient with him.
Really admirable.”
“And?”
“And then the middle child, a girl, found this basket of nerf
balls, maybe big cotton balls, and began throwing them at her brothers. And they of course threw them back. “
‘Snowballs!’ I said, and they all began to laugh.
They settled down some and I asked if they
had any questions. They always ask about
the reindeer. They listened. It ended well. I have a whole new respect for teachers doing
remote instruction.”
“How about one more good thing?”
“The elves got a request from the grandma of a five-year-old. Seemed intent on getting her
grandson to see Santa. We booked it and
the camera opened up to this sweet little guy sitting by his mother, a little
nervous, but very curious. We connected with each other right away.
I think I finally learned not to look at him on the screen
but instead look right into the camera. It
wasn’t the same as being in person of course, but our eyes met and we seemed to
click. As we talked, he got more
comfortable. He told me about a present
he was giving his mom and got excited.
That’s always a good sign, kids who clue into the joy of giving.
And then he did something I would never have thought
of. He insisted on a picture with Santa
and showed his Mom how he wanted it done.
He held the tablet on his lap, filled with my face. His camera swings around and I see the
grandma. She’s taking a picture of her
grandson, holding a screen on his lap, with my image on the screen. A digital image of me
thousands of miles away, in his living room.
I haven’t seen the picture, but I imagine him with a big smile.”
“So, it worked,” I said.
“Yeah, in its own weird way it worked.”
“You know what they say don’t you Santa?”
“What?”
“Even old myths can learn new tricks.”
“Stop pulling my leg McClure. It’s a poor substitute for being present in
real life.”
“But you did your job.
You brought hope and joy to that little boy on Christmas, just like you
used to do for me.”
“Yeah, I guess I did after all.”
“This might be a new thing for you Santa.”
“God, I hope not. I
just want things to go back to the way they were.”
“Hey, speaking of God, do you ever talk to him?”
“No. I’ve told you
this before, we’re in a different league, God and I.”
“OK. Well, how far
does this deal of you knowing things about me go?”
“What do you mean?”
"I mean, do you know my future?”
“Like what?”
“Like how much time I have left here among the living?”
“Why are you asking me this McClure?”
“Because I have things I want to get done, and it would help
a lot to know how much time I had to do them.
I’ve never been a big planner, but I’d at least like to set some realistic
goals. Hard to do if don’t have a time
frame you know?”
“McClure, I know for a fact you used to have to make up
these kinds of plans for work. Five-year
plans, that kind of thing. Tell me, how
accurate were those plans?”
“They weren’t worth a shit, Santa. Wild ass guesses at best.”
“You couldn’t have planned for this pandemic and the mess it
would cause in a million years, could you?”
“I guess not.”
“So, my standard advice is to do what you want most right now. Don’t wait. You mortals have a bad habit of procrastinating, and then dying. I don’t have that problem. You do.”
I looked over at the river, still flowing by. I knew he was right.
“You’re talking about your book, right? Stop screwing around and get it done. You’ll feel better. And then do the same with the other things
you want to do but find ways to avoid.”
“So, do you think we’ll talk again next year?”
“Let’s plan on it.
Thanks for the chat, McClure. I
needed someone to talk to.”
“We all do Santa.
Thanks for being you.”
“Don’t get all sentimental on me, McClure. I've got to get out of here. I have places to go, things to do, and people
to see. So do you. But do one more thing for me, will you?”
“What’s that?”
“Have a Merry Christmas, and a damned good New Year.”
“Thanks, Santa. You
too. Things will be different next
year.”
“Yep. Thanks for reminding me. They always are.”
And with that, he walked away. Santa and the spirit of Christmas found me at a picnic table. I hope he found you too. Merry Christmas. Cherish this new year by making it your best yet.
