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How I came to believe again
Dec. 28th, 2003 02:41 pmLike most kids, I stopped believing in Santa Claus 'round about the time my age hit the double digits. And I stayed in that state of cynical adult normalcy for a dozen years or so.
And then, I went to college. At this college, there was a tradition of "secret Santa"-ing during the final week of classes -- we get our secret "santees" little gifts for 6 of those 7 days, and slip them into that person's sock annonymously. And then, reveal ourselves on the seventh day (usually the last day we were all in the dorm together) with a bigger wrapped present.
[The Lead-In, Background Information stuff]
Now, this particular college has a strong nursing program, and the nursing students tended (and I suppose still do) to have their own strong subculture -- as is understandable. Their education leaned toward pre-med and their work load was considerably heavier than that of us Liberal Arts types.
The upper-classmen dorms were all two-storey affairs, with a flight of stairs leading straight up almost directly from the front door. The nursing students all had their rooms upstairs and they tended to come in the door and go to their rooms to study without so much as a wave hello to the rest of us. Since I use a wheelchair, the realm of the nursing students might as well have been on Mars, for all I knew about it.
[Back to the main story]
So, when it came 'round to secret Santa time my sophomore year (I think it was), guess who I pick. That's right. I pick one of the nursing students' names. I'd been living under the same roof with her since September, and I wasn't even sure which face was hers.
I'm metaphorically scratching my all morning, wondering what to get her. At lunch, I see whole oranges on the cafeteria salad bar and think: "Oranges! They've been a traditional Christmas gift for centuries!" And I pocket one. But I also think I shourld really buy her something to go with with it.
So, right before I head home from classes I slip into the campus book/convenience store. There I see all manner of cookies, and candy bars, and cute little nick-nacks with "I Wuv U!" on them ... all things fun and frivilous and cheering when you're in the midst of studying for a nursing final. When all of a sudden, I hear a voice in my ear, as clearly as if there was someone standing next to me: "Get her some of that instant chicken soup!" So I do.
I hurry back to the dorm, check to make sure no one is around to see me, and quickly slip my pressies into the sock under her name, before heading to my own room. I'm fiddling with my key in the lock when I hear my "santee" come in behind me and check her stocking (What timing! :::Whew!!:::)
"Chicken soup," I hear her exclaim, "and an orange! Just what I needed -- I'm coming down with a cold!"
Now, I ask you -- who else but "Santa" would have known that?
I've been a firm believer ever since.
Now, I do not believe that he is flesh and blood, or that he employs thousands of non-union workers under 3 feet tall, or goes about with any of the other trappings we see in central mall displays and countless television specials. I don't even believe he is the ghost of the 4th C. Bishop of Myra, who later was cannonized as the patron saint of children, sailors and pawnshop owners (which is why I put "Santa" in quotes -- it's a title -- not his first name)
But that does not make him any less real.
In the wide view, I see 'him' as old as life on Earth itself. His generosity and boundless stores of riches -- enough to give gifts to everyone on the planet -- are the generosity and riches of Nature itself. He can be as jolly and full of hope as the rising sun on a winter morning -- and as fierce as a February storm.*
In the narrower, winter solstice holiday-folklore-specific view, I see 'him' as a wind spirit, particularly the North Wind, who brings winter in on his coat tails. That is why he flies up and down chimneys on his gift-giving nights, because that is how the wind always travels (and he flies through the chinks in the windows and floorboards of those who don't have fireplaces). That is how he knows all and sees all. That is how he can visit everyone in just one night -- because there is no place on Earth where the wind is not blowing. And that is why we say he "lives" at the North Pole, because that is where the strongest winds of winter arise.
At the deepest core, however, I believe he is the spirit of giving and receiving made manifest. And when we listen to that spirit, he continues to give through us, whether our age is in the single or triple digits.
*According to Phyllis Siefker in her book Santa Claus, Last of the Wild Men (McFarland & Company, Inc. Publishers, Jefferson, North Carolina, 1997), the various winter gift-givers that pre-dated our modern Santa in medieval and Renaissance Europe often had devil-like horns and were just as likely to eat children as bring them presents, particularly if they were naughty... She notes that "Nick" is also a name given to Satan. Gives a whole new slant to "Better watch out . . . Santa Claus is coming to town!" doesn't it?
And then, I went to college. At this college, there was a tradition of "secret Santa"-ing during the final week of classes -- we get our secret "santees" little gifts for 6 of those 7 days, and slip them into that person's sock annonymously. And then, reveal ourselves on the seventh day (usually the last day we were all in the dorm together) with a bigger wrapped present.
[The Lead-In, Background Information stuff]
Now, this particular college has a strong nursing program, and the nursing students tended (and I suppose still do) to have their own strong subculture -- as is understandable. Their education leaned toward pre-med and their work load was considerably heavier than that of us Liberal Arts types.
The upper-classmen dorms were all two-storey affairs, with a flight of stairs leading straight up almost directly from the front door. The nursing students all had their rooms upstairs and they tended to come in the door and go to their rooms to study without so much as a wave hello to the rest of us. Since I use a wheelchair, the realm of the nursing students might as well have been on Mars, for all I knew about it.
[Back to the main story]
So, when it came 'round to secret Santa time my sophomore year (I think it was), guess who I pick. That's right. I pick one of the nursing students' names. I'd been living under the same roof with her since September, and I wasn't even sure which face was hers.
I'm metaphorically scratching my all morning, wondering what to get her. At lunch, I see whole oranges on the cafeteria salad bar and think: "Oranges! They've been a traditional Christmas gift for centuries!" And I pocket one. But I also think I shourld really buy her something to go with with it.
So, right before I head home from classes I slip into the campus book/convenience store. There I see all manner of cookies, and candy bars, and cute little nick-nacks with "I Wuv U!" on them ... all things fun and frivilous and cheering when you're in the midst of studying for a nursing final. When all of a sudden, I hear a voice in my ear, as clearly as if there was someone standing next to me: "Get her some of that instant chicken soup!" So I do.
I hurry back to the dorm, check to make sure no one is around to see me, and quickly slip my pressies into the sock under her name, before heading to my own room. I'm fiddling with my key in the lock when I hear my "santee" come in behind me and check her stocking (What timing! :::Whew!!:::)
"Chicken soup," I hear her exclaim, "and an orange! Just what I needed -- I'm coming down with a cold!"
Now, I ask you -- who else but "Santa" would have known that?
I've been a firm believer ever since.
Now, I do not believe that he is flesh and blood, or that he employs thousands of non-union workers under 3 feet tall, or goes about with any of the other trappings we see in central mall displays and countless television specials. I don't even believe he is the ghost of the 4th C. Bishop of Myra, who later was cannonized as the patron saint of children, sailors and pawnshop owners (which is why I put "Santa" in quotes -- it's a title -- not his first name)
But that does not make him any less real.
In the wide view, I see 'him' as old as life on Earth itself. His generosity and boundless stores of riches -- enough to give gifts to everyone on the planet -- are the generosity and riches of Nature itself. He can be as jolly and full of hope as the rising sun on a winter morning -- and as fierce as a February storm.*
In the narrower, winter solstice holiday-folklore-specific view, I see 'him' as a wind spirit, particularly the North Wind, who brings winter in on his coat tails. That is why he flies up and down chimneys on his gift-giving nights, because that is how the wind always travels (and he flies through the chinks in the windows and floorboards of those who don't have fireplaces). That is how he knows all and sees all. That is how he can visit everyone in just one night -- because there is no place on Earth where the wind is not blowing. And that is why we say he "lives" at the North Pole, because that is where the strongest winds of winter arise.
At the deepest core, however, I believe he is the spirit of giving and receiving made manifest. And when we listen to that spirit, he continues to give through us, whether our age is in the single or triple digits.
*According to Phyllis Siefker in her book Santa Claus, Last of the Wild Men (McFarland & Company, Inc. Publishers, Jefferson, North Carolina, 1997), the various winter gift-givers that pre-dated our modern Santa in medieval and Renaissance Europe often had devil-like horns and were just as likely to eat children as bring them presents, particularly if they were naughty... She notes that "Nick" is also a name given to Satan. Gives a whole new slant to "Better watch out . . . Santa Claus is coming to town!" doesn't it?
