Ho, Ho, Hum

Walking through the mall in these last days before Christmas makes me thankful that I don't care much for Santa Claus. The picture line is one more long line I don't have to wait in.

A few days ago, I almost told my first grader that Santa Claus doesn't exist. But, at the last minute, I thought better of it.

Why? Maybe because it's too early. I don't know. Maybe because I don't want him to have to be one of those kids at school who has to always keep his mouth shut about Santa and sort of feel like an outsider as other kids engage in the fantasy of it all.

That's really about it, though. Otherwise I see no use for him. We might have Santa leave a toy or two here or there -- but there's no cookie, no milk, no proclamations about how magical Santa is, etc. I'm sure St. Nicholas was an OK guy, but he couldn't have seen all this coming.

There are a thousand lectures you can give and that we've all heard about the "real meaning of Christmas." About capitalism and alienation and only-once-a-year-charity and unnecessary stress and people who start everything too early and do too much ...

Those are nothing more than cliches now -- mostly because they're true.

But Santa seems impervious to it all. Untouchable. And there's every reason why he shouldn't be.

We're talking about a holiday celebrating the birth of what billions of people believe to be the savior for humankind and for themselves personally, in whatever manner it is that faith speaks to them. It's my belief that this belief is something you take or leave. And that's all that it is and all it was ever originally expressed to be. Anything beyond that, I believe, isn't faith at all. Maybe fear. Maybe power. But not faith.

It's difficult enough to have faith in the face of life's trials. Yet, we seem to try make it harder by confusing our children with Santa Claus and his sanctimonious shit list and all his stuff that the elves make to exact Habro specification (and sometimes, even, with the same bar code you'd find in a store).

It's so much more simpler than that, this Christmas thing.

The message of Jesus is clear: "Love others as I have loved you." Look to the example of his life, and it's my belief that you will find no more perfect one.

Jesus didn't reward us with things. He rewarded us by our willingness to give up our things. Or at least our attachment to them. Not that we shouldn't have things, but that we shouldn't have to have them. He expressed this through example, both in life and death.

We are all equal. We are all loved. And all this is spoken to us through faith -- that wonderful gift we have that we feel when we quiet our minds and our souls and just listen.

So, we teach our children faith.

Our children, from the moment they are born, look to us to understand the world. When we teach them about God, what are we teaching them? Each parent must answer that as he or she is called to do. I tend to teach faith above all else.

I don't teach that I know what heaven's like. I don't teach that you pray to God that your grandmother doesn't die of cancer. You pray that she and everyone who loves has the strength and peace and comfort that's needed. That God never said you wouldn't suffer, just that you wouldn't do it alone. That you might find some meaning along the way that transforms you into someone new.

I don't teach that you get good things because you believe in Jesus. You find peace and transcendence beyond a world you perceive, a world that you try to make God fit into. What you want falls into place when you get what you need.

This is what I believe, and my beliefs don't require that anyone else do the same.

But, beliefs aside, it's apparently pretty hard if you want to avoid making a big deal out of Santa Claus.

The other day, I'm letting my 3 year old play with the Thomas the Tank Engine trains in Barnes & Noble. It's time to go home. I've never heard a child scream with such terror and anguish as I pulled him away from those trains. Those things are like cooked crack.

As I walk out the store, a lady who worked there looked at Aden and said in a chirpy voice, "Santa Claus is heeeearing thaaaat." She wasn't a bad person. She wasn't trying to be anything other than somebody trying to help me quiet my child.

But this is the essence of Santa Claus.

A supernatural being is watching us, keeping tabs on how good or bad we are, checking his list not once but twice and probably more, judging us in all his omnipotence and omnipresence, and if we aren't good enough for his liking, we don't get anything for Jesus' birthday.

And leave some food out for him. If not, it's rude. Because he's hungry. Obviously. Just look at him. Give your burnt cookie offering, and chances are you might be in Santa's good graces. Maybe a little extra candy thrown into the stocking.

This is our children's first experience with faith. This Santa Claus character.

They hear about God and Jesus and all. But Santa is their exploration into the unknown. At the end of these Christmas movies, the person is always redeemed when they decide to believe in Santa Claus.

(Even that creepy magician who murdered Frosty the Snowman -- premeditated, first-degree murder when he locked him in that greenhouse-- and was told by Santa Claus that if he didn't leave that hat alone, he wouldn't bring him any presents ever again. And all the magician had to do to make it OK was write "I'm sorry for what I did to Frosty" over and over and over. This is Santa justice).

Our children, rightfully, question the existence of Santa Claus. We tell them, "You've got to believe. If you don't believe, he won't come." Or, we ask them some cryptic question that's supposed to serve as an answer: "Do I believe in Santa? Well, do you believe in the spirit of Christmas?"

When I was a little boy, I asked my Mom how Santa came into the apartment if we didn't have a chimney. She told me he had a key. In the housing we lived in, you weren't supposed to be too suprised when people broke into your home and stole your stuff. People you knew, too.

I didn't like the idea of this Santa Claus having a key to my house. What if I wasn't good? I'd heard the threats. If somebody's sadistic enough to leave a lump of coal, what else might they be willing to do?

Santa Claus was already judging me for being good or bad. So what if I didn't get much of anything from him? Was that because I wasn't good? Was the misbehaved boy in school with the big house and all the money good because he got an Atari and I got a pair of shoes? And why should I even be compelled to compare whether an Atari is better than a pair of shoes as a gift, anyway?

What's the point?

And then we say, "It's not about what you get, it's about the spirit of it." Which is true. But Santa Claus doesn't teach this. It's confusing. He teaches us to be good and so we receive.

In fact, I'm not sure what it is he teaches. It's almost like the myth of Santa Claus is the parents' excuse to live out a fantasy of being some kind of god themselves.

At the end of it all, this Santa thing does something far more insidious to our children.

We confuse our children that it's all about Jesus, then almost neurotically have them bow at the altar of some other supernatural, pseudo-messianic character.

And when they finally learn the truth -- whether it be getting up for a drink of water and seeing mom and dad in the act of setting up the presents or our children's slow, cynical milking of the charade to make sure they still get their toys -- it teaches them that maybe they should think twice before believing in something again.

Or, for that matter, believing their parents.

The jewel of innocence is a precious thing.

The type of gift that Santa can't bring ... but sure can take away.