Santa, My Hero!

Don't Give Up The Sleigh!

In 1999 I wrote an article called, “Don’t Give Up the Sleigh!” It’s my most requested reprint article from fellow Islanders and even some off-Islanders. I’ve updated it a few times as I have this year. I’m dedicating this article to the Lion’s Club of Shelter Island. I think they should be called the Lions from Zion, because they are a godsend to many people on this Island. The Lion’s Club and the Churches here on Shelter Island are the most community dedicated groups you can imagine. If you want to know where the Spirit of Christmas lives all year long, it lives here.

I believe there are certain people, things, and ideas that belong to the entire world. Mother Theresa, Gandhi, Einstein, Michaelangelo, Piaf, Pavorotti, all the greats in science and art, are people who belong to the world. The Pyramids, the Statue of Liberty, the Great Wall of China, the Wailing Wall are some things that belong to the world. The Bhagavad-Gita, the teachings of Buddha, the Torah and Talmud, the New Testament, and all venues of positive spiritual enrichment belong to the world. Kwanzaa with it’s focus on family, Chanukah with it’s theme of renewed dedication to that which is holy, Christmas with it’s message of hope, all belong to the world. And I believe, Santa Claus, the person and the idea, belongs to the world too.

We learn about Santa very early. Someone who loves us and brings us a present. We grow up a little and figure out the Santa conspiracy. As teens, we denounce our precious childhood belief. We become “cool” and pretty much know everything by the time we're twenty. It's beyond our comprehension how our dumb relatives can lead such screwed up lives. We'll never repeat their mistakes.

Through our twenties, we shun our families for our friends and lovers. We don't need Santa, or any holiday mishmash. We don’t need any family members enough to overlook their flaws.

We spend our thirties backtracking and correcting all the mistakes we made in our twenties. Most of us are married with children and suddenly we hear our parent's words coming out of our mouths. We worry a lot because there’s way too much month at the end of the money. We have discovered we are flawed. It seems to be easier to forgive others when we need forgiveness ourselves. Some old tape that says, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”, seems to be playing in our heads a lot lately.

Our forties are great, aside from the fact that body parts start heading south. We know we have all of what we need and much of what we want. We realize that money ebbs and flows in life. Money only increases choices. And money doesn't insulate anyone from pain, loneliness or despair. Possessions are just “things”, and things come and go. Forgiveness is easier now, in part from maturity, in part from middle age forgetfulness. It’s hard to keep hating the brother who smashed your car twenty years ago and never paid for it. Yes, he’s still a moron, but he’s the family’s moron and besides, the kids love him.

After we pass the half century mark, what we value most is time. The days are long but the years are short. We can never have one minute of our lives back, ever. There's not always a "next time". We might as well do what we like while it’s still legal. Old dreams come off the shelf. Restore the old car, write the book, see Europe, drink better wine.

You know you’ve grown up when your own opinion is what matters most, finally! Is it really going to matter what someone else thought of anything we did in a hundred years? Nope. You've matured enough to know that you're not better than anyone else, but damn if you ain't just as good.

You rediscover your very own amusing and annoying family. Suddenly the fact that Aunt Ida still uses that cracked, chipped teapot she got in Arizona on her honeymoon in 1942, doesn't bother you like it used to. That she gave her daughter the pretty new teapot you gave her is now understandable. What’s familiar has more value than what’s new.

By now Santa has made a dramatic comeback in your life and you meet him again for the first time. He doesn't dye his hair. He stays married to the same wife. He's fat and wears red. He’s aware of the new movement to reinvent him as a fit and trim man in a red suit. He says you can take your political correctness and shove in your stocking. He’s been fat and jolly since he first opened shop at the North Pole and he is exercising his right as a legendary figure to stay that way.

Santa’s not impressed with technology, he's keeping the sleigh and his way of doing things. You find you need Santa more as an adult than you ever did as a child. You’ve seen enough injustice and tragedy and not enough kindness and miracles.

But Santa is an annual miracle you can depend on. As soon as we hear Bing Crosby sing "White Christmas", we hear the sound of our own back door from childhood, the smell of our own pillow, echoes of our parent's voices. We’d give anything to be eight years old once more and bound down the stairs on Christmas morning and see our disheveled parents in rumpled robes sitting on the couch watching us through a flurry of flying ribbons and paper. Through believing in Santa, we keep those precious memories alive and well. Santa lives in our children’s eyes, in old wrinkled faces, in fat wiggly puppies, good hot chocolate, and unexpected much needed gifts, although not much you need now can be brought down a chimney in a sack.

As for me, I will always believe in Santa and though I no longer need Santa's presents, God above, how I will always need his presence...

God bless us, everyone!