Black Santa

Okay, okay. I know that my last post was in April. I'm not a very successful blogger it would seem. Thank you to my three followers that have been nagging me to write something else; you make me feel like someone actually cares about what I have say on here.

I've been in a funk. I've been waiting for something to happen to snap me out of my haze--something that I just HAD to blog about. And it finally happened. And it is irresistable. So here you go:

I've been troubled by the Santa thing this year. I don't know how other adults feel about this, but I don't really like lying to my kids about the existence of Santa. It is the only lie that I tell my children--and for some reason I feel like participation in this enormous ruse is mandatory. I don't know anyone that says, "You know, our family is going to opt out of the Santa thing and just tell the kids from the start that he isn't real." I think other parents would be horrified: "You are ruining the magic of Christmas!!" I haven't decided if this is true or not, so for now the default answer is just to participate.

I started to be really bothered by Santa several weeks ago when Cora said to me, "Mom, so are Jesus and Santa basically the same person?" As a deeply Christian person, I was troubled by this question and wanted to help her understand the difference between Jesus, who is the Savior of the world, the person responsible for her salvation, and Santa, a mythical character born out of legend and clever marketing schemes.

So following her question an emphatic, "No!" burst from my mouth, which was about the be followed by "because Jesus is real and Santa isn't!" But I stopped. I forgot. I couldn't fully utilize the teaching moment in the way I wanted to because Cora still believes in Santa. (Or so I think.) So I mumbled something about how Santa's purpose is to help us remember Jesus. Santa is to help us to remember to be generous and blah blah blah.

I don't really believe that Santa's purpose is to help us remember Jesus--because a huge part of me thinks that Santa and his big belly are symbolic of the rampant consumerism and greediness that are completely opposite of what the Lord taught us with his life and his birth. Plus, I am troubled by the haziness created by mixing up Santa with Jesus. I've had a few non-believers make smug comments to me in my life about how I'll figure it out soon enough--as though as one matures one discovers that Jesus is just as fake as Santa is. I guess it shouldn't be a big surprise that there are so many cynics in the world today--with Santa and Jesus all mixed up in the same Christmas pot it does get hard to see truth from fiction. So at some point I guess it is easier just to decide it is all fiction.

But despite my conflicted feelings, I still participate in all of it. I have my tree up, my snowman stockings are hung, and I have indulged as much as our budget would allow in the rampant consumerism I was decrying in the last paragraph. And although internally my relationship with Santa is rather bittersweet, every year we take our girls to sit on his lap, ask for a gift, and get their pictures taken.

And this is where it gets interesting this year.

We always go to see Santa at the Nordstrom in downtown Seattle. You have to wait in line for hours, but they give you crayons and pictures to color, and they have free cookies and cider. The photographer is good. We already have three years of pictures lined up on our piano with Santa and the background the same, and our girls changing, growing, and aging in the pictures. I like this tradition because it gives me an opportunity to document our lives.

On Saturday night we decided on a whim to go and do the Santa thing. We put the girls in dresses, curled their hair, loaded them up in the car and drove all the way into Seattle. We jumped out of the car and raced to the end of the line, which was long enough to be out the doors and running along the large display window that Nordstrom converts into Santa's living room every year. We just made it before the 8 pm cutoff. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to have a look at Santa.

Santa was black.

As luck would have it, we had hit African American Santa Night.

I expected the questions to come right away, but they didn't. No the girls just stared through the display window, puzzled. They were trying to put this one together on thier own.

They liked this Santa. He was very friendly and waved at them. He even got up and showed off some of this dance moves, and Cora laughed and laughed as he did the robot. The black Santa had soul.

Finally, Sydney couldn't stand it anymore. "Mom, why does Santa have dark skin?"

"Well . . ." I said, choosing my words carefully, "I think that maybe this is one of Santa's helpers." That satisfied Sydney, because she was eager to be satisfied. She likes believing.

Cora never asked about it. Cora, who is already a perceptive child, had just been told by our red-headed neighbor Allison that Santa didn't come last year and she instead caught her parents putting presents under the tree. I think that the black Santa might have been the final confirmation that Cora needed for the truth she already suspected. But I'm not sure that she is quite ready yet to admit she doesn't believe. And I'm not sure that I'm ready for her to admit it either, even though I will be really relieved when she does.

As for Maryn, she barely noticed Santa and whether he was black or white, blue or green. She was all about the candy cane and the rocking horse she got to sit on for the picture, which she dubbed a rocking "cow."

I am grateful for the black Santa. I think he allowed me the opportunity to be honest about my lie, without ruining the magic. I think he allowed everyone in the family to experience Santa in the way that they needed to this year.

So, what the heck . . . Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!