There was one more gift on my list to buy so I broke my cardinal rule and went to the mall on Super Saturday. I packed my pepper spray in case I needed to fight off anyone for that last discounted sweater at The Gap. I found a parking space two zip-codes down from the mall and then rode my bike the rest of way, leaving it with the valet attendant outside of Nordstrom. I passed the line of children waiting for their digital-camera moment with Santa right when the jolly fellow was taking a break. He looked a little weary and lost, so I offered some help.
“Where’s the Cinnabon?” he inquired.
I led him to the food court and sprang for a sleigh-sized cinnamon roll. We chit-chatted while he stuffed his bowl full of jelly with sugary goodness. He told me that the elves at the North Pole have everything under control. So now he can spend his days interacting with children all over the world. He said he’ll head back up north on Friday to rest up for his big night. He also said that he likes to bring back the organic reindeer food from Trader Joe’s.
I gave him a nod, quietly looking for a chance to escape from this nutty St. Nick. But I could see the life returning to his rosy cheeks and decided to play along.
“You know, Santa, I’m really having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year.”
“Why is that?”
“Everything is just so out of control,” I told him. “The whole season is just a bombardment of advertising urging me to spend, shop, and buy. People camped out for days for Black Friday deals. Stores opened up before midnight on Thanksgiving. I don’t care that Every Kiss Begins with Kay and that Lexus is making this a December to Remember. I just want to rebel against the commercialism and see how much money I can save … by not shopping.”
“Wow,” he said. “Sounds like you’ve just come out of Abercrombie and Grinch.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, very funny. It’s not that bad. I understand the difference between the spiritual reasons for Christmas and the consumerism season of Christmas. I just wish we had more emphasis on the former and less on the latter.”
“It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?”
“Sure is, but frankly, Santa, don’t you think you’re to blame?”
“Me? Why me?”
“Well, didn’t you start all this? I mean, how did we go from St. Nicholas … a real bishop of the Christian church to you: a fat man, in a red suit, flying all over the world giving gifts to good little girls and boys?”
“Marketing.”
“Marketing? Huh?
“Well, yeah, sort of. It’s a long story, trust me. Back in the day, in Europe, I was quite famous. I had my own holiday, December 6th, to honor my life of kindness and gift-giving. So it was the Europeans who brought me to America. But like most things here in the new world, I got Americanized. I’m basically the work of writers, poets, artists, and advertising executives dating back to the early 1800’s.
“But,” he whispered. “I’ve always been St. Nicholas. Whether you call me St. Nick, Sinterklaas, Sankt Niklaus, or Santa Claus … I still am St. Nicholas.
“Beneath this red suit, I’m still just and old bishop who had Jesus as the center of his life and his ministry. I still care for children and for the poor. I still am devoted to Christ the King.”
I was stunned. “You have to be kidding.”
“Listen, I can’t help how my existence has transformed over time. But I do know how I lived. My values haven’t changed. I went to prison for my beliefs, so in that sense the North Pole isn’t so bad.
I was amazed at what I was hearing, but it sounded logical. Maybe instead of blaming Santa, I actually needed to brush up on my history of Santa. We live in an age where everything is super-sized and exaggerated to the max, from the contracts of the mega-star athletes to the commercialism of Christmas. Perhaps with Santa it’s really not any different. But, maybe, just maybe, if we replace Santa’s suit with St. Nicholas’ vestments, the true meaning of Christmas isn’t so camouflaged after all.
“Thanks Nicholas. This has been extremely eye-opening. I think I’m ready to enjoy the Christmas spirit this week.”
“That’s good, my son. Now, that we’ve got all of this cleared up, what can I bring you for Christmas?”
I paused and thought for a second. I replayed all the ads I’ve seen throughout the last month. “Well, to be honest, I’d really like Carly Foulkes’ phone number.”
“Who is that?”
“She’s the girl in the T-mobile commercials.”
