What a day / Santa’s miracle / baby Jesus
I keep waiting until I scan the pic of Noah with Santa for you but it looks like hell will freeze over first, so here’s the story. And some weird angst. After this whine: I am sick again (sinus, still; all the same problem, just no solution yet) and went to the doctor and managed to get my Volvo stuck in the snow. With a delay for tow trucks for 2 hrs, to get towed 2 feet to clear the snow. It was very annoying plus unproductive work-wise. Whine over. This story is worth the whine.
So Saturday I decided to take Noah to get his picture taken with Santa, the same Santa we have had pictures with the last two years; he sets up shop at a smallish local mall. I got the previous years’ pictures out to show Noah and to talk about this whole Santa thing, but as soon as he saw the first one he pointed to it and said “Santa LOVES you.” I was a little surprised his school indoctrinated him into the Santa thing (his school is nothing if not multicultural, but it ultimately makes sense… first of all, their version of “multi” is including every holiday and second, the other kids probably had something to do with this.)
So, the key elements of Santa having been covered - love, photos - we set off for the mall. I thought the website said Santa was there at 9:30, which would prove to be an almost fatal error as Santa really began at 11, but Noah and I and his grandfather got breakfast and then his grandfather left and we rode the horses (mechanical) and messed around until joining the lineup at 10:40.
Have you ever tried to line up with a 2.something year old? I do not recommend it for the solo parent, which I was on this venture. However, Noah was pretty good up until we paid, at around 11:10. But then we went and stood on the ramp and Noah started to realize that he was going to be expected to do something. And the tears started. And the emotional insistent “NO SANTA. NO SIT SANTA’S LAP.”
I stayed, musing on how before I had a child I always thought that I would never force my child through these horrible traditions. But a) I had two pictures of Noah on Santa’s lap already! Must. complete. set! and b) I had paid. And c) I don’t know, there is a certain kind of madness that takes over at times; it’s a variant on the stubborn gene. I did reassure Noah that he did not have to sit on Santa’s lap. I told him that he could sit on Mummy’s lap, just like last year.
And then it was our turn. And Christmas arrived.
Santa, at least this one, is a pro. He did not get up from his couch nor did he lean forward or ho-ho. He simply held up his hand and waited. And when Noah got interested in the hand he said “give me 5!”
So Noah ran up and gave Santa 5. Then Santa started to just talk with him. What’s your name? (”Noah.”) “Oh, Noah,” said Santa, with a glance at my hand, “I know you. You live with your mummy and daddy!” “Yes!” said Noah. “And you like… Thomas the Tank Engine.” “Yes!” said Noah. “And Dora!” “Yes!” said Noah, sort of. I don’t know that he really knows Dora but he was all into it.
Then Santa got into it. “Do you know that I am going to bring you a present?” Noah just looked. “Yes, probably… oh I don’t want to say too much but at least a colouring book.” “Book!” said Noah. “Yes!” said Santa. “But that’s on Christmas. Today I am going to give you a candy cane, after you sit on Santa’s lap for your picture.”
So Noah hopped up and did.
And that was the Miracle this year, I think. Writing it out now it occurs to me that it’s a bit scary that pedophiles possibly have the same MO, but then, that is the thing about superpowers - they can be used for good or for evil. And Saturday Santa used his for good.
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Given that we are going the path of mild Santa indoctrination (small gifts; no naughty-or-nice, just love) it seems odd that I keep stumbling over the baby Jesus. But, I do.
I cannot really yet bring myself to try to explain to Noah this bizarre story of Mary getting knocked up by God, and tax collectors, donkeys, wise men that are kings, or maybe not, angel choirs, and Herod chasing after this small baby. Nevermind all the issues around seasons and kneeling camels and skin colour.
The grown up Jesus, perhaps, is somewhat accessible: a man trying to do the right thing who gets slain for it and rises again. But this whole nativity thing just reads badly to us; it’s the cultural weight of virgin births and nativity plays and snow when the sheep are out and all those things that starts to drag it down for us.
So I’m not really sure what to tell Noah about Christmas. It doesn’t matter quite so much this year; Santa can stand in for gods of unconditional love everywhere and we can readdress it next year. But it is kind of astonishing to find just how much reluctance there is both from me and from the rest of the system to even talk about baby Jesus.
We might sing a carol or two though.
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