I can’t ever remember going to go see Santa. A lot of times, when I think very hard about early experiences, I can at least get a glimmer of a memory. In this case, zip, nadda, nicht.
First of all, I know I went at least once, because there is photographic proof. However, I am guessing one of two things happened. One, the experience was completely underwhelming and did not leave a lasting impression. Two, I was highly suspect of the circumstances behind the so-called Santa incident, and decided to cast the entire ordeal far from the recesses of my mind. I think it is the latter.
As kids go, I was on the smart end, I think. I’m not trying to toot my own horn here. But I always had straight A’s, and more than anything else, I was the youngest of seven children. When you are the youngest child in a large family you are subjected to some interesting activities. And people trying to fool the runt-child was certainly one of them. However, by my second or third year on this planet, I became highly suspect of all those around, frequently requesting for proper credentials at all family gatherings, including breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I learned to sniff, then sip, my drinks before taking an all-out gulp. I would often make people “take a bite first” of my food. And. At bedtime, I sat up until everyone else had drifted off to never, never land, just to be sure.
Let’s get something else straight here. I believe in Santa Claus. I always have and I always will. But I DO remember asking my Mom about the Santa ringing the bell out front of the store, and this one ringing the bell over here on this corner. “Something doesn’t add up, Mom. I smell a rat.” She assured me that Santa had magical powers and could travel from place to place with a simple crinkle of his nose. I wasn’t buying it.
So, I bet when I met “Santa” for the photo op, I spotted the defects in his physical appearance immediately. I mean, a synthetic white beard, and elves who were taller than I? Cardboard candy canes around his throne? What is this? Let’s Make A Deal? What’s behind Door #2 Monty? For crying out loud. Yeah. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t buying it.
But, it appears that I sat for the photo and tried to make the best of things. There was probably a promise of a visit to the candy counter on the other side of that camera. So. Although I didn’t smile, I did bare my front teeth as I elbowed the guy in the chest.
I’m not sure the whole “going to see Santa and getting your picture taken” is such a good thing. This time of year, you see the myriad of photos that have gone terribly wrong, all across our great land. And, I have yet to see a photo with Santa that looks truly authentic. Maybe there is someone out there, propping it up just right. But most look pretty cheesy. It seems to cast doubt in the minds of children.
I think a parent/child afternoon with a good Christmas book would be better, then a good sit-down at the kitchen table, with milk and cookies, and the nicely worded letter to Santa, which is then walked to the mailbox. And once it disappears into that box, the waiting and wondering can begin, with high, high hopes in the wings.
Hopes. In the Buddhist tradition, as well as other religions, the word hope is used with caution. They say that if we find our fulfillment in the present moment, we are gratified and at peace with all things, and hope is not needed. “Hope” would suggest looking toward the future instead of being content in the present moment.
Other religions, like Christianity, place a high level of importance on hope. A hope for better things, for prayers to be answered, for things to improve. And on.
As with just about everything else in my life, I always seem to be in the middle. So for me, it is a little bit of both. I am happy and content to be here in this moment, yet I do have hopes for the future, for things that I wish for, for my visualizations to come true.
Either way. Mostly, I wish for people to find peace, whether it is in their current place and time, or somewhere in the moments ahead. I hope it is okay to hope for that. I surely hope it for you.
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I dwell in possibility.
— Emily Dickinson
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If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment.
— Henry David Thoreau
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It is because of hope that you suffer. It is through hope that you’ll change things.
— Maxime Lagacé
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