Whatever my own misgivings about pushing the Santa myth on my kid (and I have loads) it’s difficult to deny the excitement and anticipation now that my three year old can grasp the vague idea of Santa. I have strong feelings about the obsessive connection between Santa and presents in Ireland. It borders on crass materialism, with complete strangers asking my son from the beginning of December what he wants Santa to bring him.
Peace on earth and goodwill to all men, I grit my teeth to keep myself from spitting that out over whatever answer my three year old’s creative brain would come up with each time.
I like the idea of Santa (or St. Nicholas, or Grandfather Frost) as an anthropomorphic representation of the spirit of Christmas – family, cheer, generosity, goodwill, and so forth. I don’t mind small presents from Santa, treats in stockings, lists and wishes. I just feel that instead of really trying to sell the idea of St. Nicholas as a generous person, there’s only the portrayal of Santa as a reliable gift dispensary.
That doesn’t mean I want to get rid of all the magic. So tonight we embarked on our new family Christmas journey with Robin: awaiting Santa. With only one more sleep to go before a jolly fat man manages to simultaneously climb down every single fireplace in the world at the same time, we set out a glass of milk and some cookies for Santa and carrots for Rudolph (I really hope he shares with the other reindeer) and Hawkeye fell asleep reaching for the window whispering “Santa….”
Happy Christmas, everyone.
This post was written on Christmas Eve, in bed, on my phone, but Mammy fell asleep before clicking “publish”. Therefore it was a wee bit late being put up and backdated to last night. Getting ready for Santa is hard work!