Wowzer! I turned around twice and it’s already seven days after Christmas. Our earth has bid that happy occasion adieu without a second thought and already made seven journeys around the sun on its way to Christmas, 2024. It’s always a bit of a shock that after all of the preparation and anticipation, Christmas day comes and goes in the blink of an eye.
And here we are, already a full week later. A mere three hundred and fifty-eight revolutions from now, we will arrive once more, together, on the one day above all others that families seem to remember they are family. And an annoying collection of humans that includes myself are already saying, “Well, only three hundred and fifty-eight days until Christmas!” Forgive us. We can’t help it. We really do love Christmas that much.
Can it really, already be only seven days after we have survived the pressures, the frenetic, often frantic preparations, that accompany this happiest, warmest, most magical but also most demanding of holidays; a week that flew by so speedily we know it will be no time at all before we find ourselves, parents, spouses, siblings, grandparents, in-laws, each and every one of us, scurrying about again, decorating, shopping, balancing shrinking checking accounts and growing credit card balances, and fretting over whether this thing or that one is right for Uncle Lewis, Aunt Franny, Grandma and Grandpa, and where in the world they are going to find that electric train or video game or doll house that had somehow been forgotten ,and was now seemingly non-existent no matter how many stores they visited. And the cooking, oh my God the cooking, and cleaning up after the cooking, and making those oh so sincere vows to diet for a month afterward.
In no time at all, children will start to flex their fingers, in practice for ripping the bows and wrappings all the faster off of their rewards for being mostly, or at least somewhat, good enough—because they did after all try—to deserve the joyous things that will sit mocking them beneath the tree for days or even weeks inside their shiny wrappings glittering once again under the colored lights, tantalizing blinking and winking.
And in spite of it all, the hustle, the bustle, the stresses of wanting to make the day as perfect as possible or perhaps, just maybe, because of it all, Christmas remains the happiest day of the year for the vast majority of us who celebrate it. Oh, we will sweat and grouch, overspend, again, shop with increasingly frantic, breathless, anxiety-ridden angst as the day grows closer. We’ll scratch our head, grind our teeth, pray that this time we get it all right, and vow that after this one we will never succumb to the ‘demands’ of the season so deeply or readily. Who are we kidding? Every single time we vow it, knowing all the time that yes, or course we will.
I’ve decided it’s because we are aware, at the deepest level of our hearts and souls, that all we do and spend and suffer—and surely know we will do again—in the name of this guy Santa Claus, this famous, white-bearded, elusive old fat guy in his red suit and bottomless sleigh propelled at faster than light speeds throughout the world in a single night by magical reindeer, is done in order to make someone else happy. There is a special joy, a deep satisfaction, accompanying the smiles and appreciation of adults simply because they have been given something that didn’t really have to be given; it comes to us three-fold, nay, ten-fold, in the exclamations, laughter, and unbounded delight of children that we can only wish would be theirs all year-round. How, those of us driven by merciless and heartless logic always ask, did we get here?
The legend of Santa Claus can be traced back hundreds of years to a monk named St. Nicholas. It is believed that Nicholas was born sometime around A.D. 280 in Patara, near Myra in modern-day Turkey. Much admired for his piety and kindness, St. Nicholas became the subject of many legends. It is said that he gave away all of his inherited wealth and traveled the countryside helping the poor and sick. One of the best-known St. Nicholas stories is the time he saved three poor sisters from being sold into slavery or prostitution by their father by providing them with a dowry so that they could be married.
Good old St. Nicholas has of course been commercialized in modern times more than anything except professional football. And yet the forever jolly old guy has never, that we know of, thrown, caught, kicked or hit a ball of any kind. He merely and happily delivers them. However, even as we may grouse about the commercializing of a ritual that, in its earliest days consisted, for most people, of exchanging gifts that were handmade at home, and bemoan the attaching of dollar signs to gifting which might often feel ‘required,’ we have deep within us an awareness that at the foundation it all is the desire to give of ourselves to others; we derive an indefinable and quietly overwhelming satisfaction from the warmth and fellowship, that passes between us and them. And there is this which I have learned; there is no happiness greater, no joy that fills the heart more, than contributing to the happiness of children.
Oh, I know some say they only go through all of the hassle of Christmas because they have to; it is expected of them. But even if that is somewhat of a factor for many, look me in the eye if you can, and tell me those same people don’t feel rewarded and perhaps a tiny bit larger at the happy gratefulness of those who receive a gift, and in return give one. Perhaps in some grander scheme, we need that little push to give something of ourselves. And I submit that is the rare individual who doesn’t feel better for having done it.
As the core of this Christmas tradition of ours is found in the caring and generosity of a spiritual individual, there is no denying that Christmas is also founded in the best aspects of religion, yet I have come to feel that there is perhaps a greater spirituality in the personage of St. Nick, Santa Claus, than any God of whom or which I am aware. To the best of my knowledge and research, no one has ever killed in the name of Santa, or pushed away a needy stranger, waged war, or committed genocide. Good old St. Nicholas has apparently never cared about gender or sexuality, politics or the accumulation of power. Santa cares for all the little children, not just the ones with an acceptable skin color or head covering. So I hope that no religion, including Christianity, which claims the holiday as its own, ever succeeds in dismissing Santa Claus as simply a representative of commerce. The old fellow is no less than the messenger who reminds us always of the traits that make us the best version of ourselves.
And so I say to you three hundred and fifty-eight days early, from the depths of my own heart and the fullness of my soul which still glows a bit from the most recent version, Merry Christmas to all, this year, next year, and through all the years that follow, and may we all, always, know our very best selves and the pure joy of giving and fellowship on each and every Christmas day.
BW
The Wallace Element 