On the Nature of Santa Claus

Thanksgiving's coming up this week and I'm heading home tomorrow to spend it with my family.  On campus, though, I'm already seeing trees and lights and other trappings of that second most wonderful of holidays that is Christmas.  It seems a lovely time to share a bit of exposition on the nature of the Jolly Old Elf himself, Santa Claus.

I had the pleasure of meeting the (currently not so) Big Guy two years ago shortly after I found myself where I hang my hat today.  It was the standard "You're asleep and dreaming.  Ignore me and go back to bed." situation at first.  Unfortunately for him, I had already learned the first two rules of life such as it is for me: 1) Rarely is anything as it seems.  and 2) SALT, SALT, SALT!.)  What can I say?   By the age of 18, most of us have been fed the grand truth (read: DAMN LIE! (Thank you, Mr. Twain)) that there is no such thing as Santa Claus.  To me, he just looked like an opportunistic burglar.

Several impossibly large packages and a circle of salt later, we reached an impasse.  I had thought he was mundane until I saw the bag work and then I guess my paranoia kicked in.  Blah blah blah, "State your name and business."  To his credit, he was very polite and patient with me.

Santa told me that he had been born Nicolas López Fernández in a small town in Cuba and was currently 32 years old.  Contrary to the commonly told stories, he actually lived in the southern Florida Keys most of the year.  "You see," he told me, "The mantle of the one you call 'Santa Claus' is actually passed down every two hundred years or so.  I haven't been on the job for more than a few years."

The story begins long after the death of the historical St. Nicholas, instead with the life of an unknown Frenchman, Jacques de Sène in the 1200s.  While he was rather poor, he actively spent what little free time performing what services he could for others without being asked or asking recompense.  By the tradition of those holding the mantle, he was apparently visited by a manifestation of the original St. Nicholas who gifted with the ability to do good for others in all places.  Jacques was a meek man in spite of his desire to help all peoples.  He didn't want the attention.  Therefore it was chosen that the night of Christmas would be his night to perform this service as it would be welcomed among the festivities held by many cultures around the Solstice.  He would take on a new persona to indulge his meekness.  The persona that would eventually become whom we understand to be Santa Claus.


After some time, the mantle was passed on to a well-to-do slavic gentleman who built the legend of Grandfather Frost (known in the US simply as Father Frost), who did his work with his grandaughter, Snow Maiden.  Apparently, he had adopted the image of an old slavic god (the existence of which is as of yet unknown) and reverse the image from a cruel, child-stealing sorcerer to that of a kind gift-giver.  After some time, he passed the mantle to a rarely benevolent east Russian vampire dream-eater (a strange variation of the vampiric curse that enables the creature to subsist on the dreams of children, much like the semitic breath-drinkers).  He started the tradition of using enchanted reindeer perpetuated by Western storytellers.  After a time, he passed it to a British gentleman who wasn't particularly good at doing the unseen do-gooder thing.  His various sightings led to the common Western image of Santa Claus and provided the inspiration for the poem commonly referred to as "The Night Before Christmas".  When his time was up in the early 1900's, he bestowed the title on an Alaskan dogsledder.  He delivered gifts in the form of ice carvings which became the real thing, sparking more than one story.  He eventually fell in love with a girl whom he had watched grow up and was granted release from his duties by passing them on to the current one.

The one whom I currently had trapped in a circle of salt in my family's living room and delayed for several hours telling me the tale of his order.

Crap.

After profuse apology on my part, he simply smiled and laughed the deep, jolly laugh so commonly attributed to his namesake and told me it was okay.  Apparently the one thing all the logical arguments "disproving" the existence of Santa Claus were forgetting was the fact that the man is MAGIC.  In all of this, no time had passed.  In fact, it never does while he doesn't mean for it to.  He laid his index finger against the side of his nose and I found myself standing next to him on the roof of my family's house.  Attached to his large blue and green sledge were 12 particularly tiny key deer.  (I really have to question the ethical concerns of enchanting and using for this purpose 12 of a threatened species...)  With a chuckle he mounted the sleigh and took the reins, calling, "On Sunshine!  On Rain!  On Love!  On Joy!  On Pink!  On Green!  On Cindy and Bobby and Jan and Peter and Marcia and Greg!  Now haul some ass!"  And with that, they took a running start and took off from my roof for their next destination.

It didn't occur to me until after his departure that I had forgotten to ask about the elves.