Santa Claus

I was six when I learned that the American Santa didn't deliver.  That December I sat on his lap and requested a toy I'd seen advertised on TV, a giant doll that came with its own desk.  I didn't care for dolls but the desk looked intriguing, and I wanted a toy for once so it was worth a shot.  Every Christmas Eve I would expectantly squeeze my presents and they invariably squished.  On Christmas and birthdays I received nothing but clothes, with the occasional stuffed animal thrown in (these squished too).  That Christmas my neighbor received the doll and I unwrapped a dress.  I hated dresses. The American Santa was a sham.

The Dutch Santa was different matter entirely; Sinterklaas was all business.  He added menace to the mix.  Accompanying him was a trusty black sidekick, Swarte Piet, who scooped evil children into his sack and carted them away.  In Ambon we learned that Swarte Piet tossed his sack into the ocean and drowned children like cats.   There is nothing like the threat of death to keep a kid on the straight and narrow.  I was very, very good in December.

One year another missonary decided to dress like Santa and surprise the children.  As his two kids and I peeked out at Santa waiting expectantly on the couch we noticed nothing but the bulging sack at his feet; it could only be a fur-lined body bag.  His children hid beneath the bed and refused to come out, and I was the only one brave enough to flirt with death by sitting on Santa's lap.

Years later I told my kids about Sinterklaas, Father Christmas and Santa, and how they divided up the duties on different feast days.  It wasn't difficult for the Santas to cover their territory with so many versions doing the job, especially since Santa didn't really bother with huge parts of the globe anyway.  Of all the Santa varieties, Sinterklaas was always my favorite.  He provided light and shadow, life and death, and there was nothing like the spark of menace to produce compliant children. 

When I was small December 26 was both a let-down and a relief.  On the one hand, Santa brought me nothing but clothes.   On the other, he allowed me to live for another year.