Five years ago, I met the real Santa. He was at Santaland, in the Macy’s department store in New York. It had to be him – he had a real beard and everything. At the very least, it was an extremely close relative, like a brother or a nephew or a fifth cousin once removed.
The eldest was five at the time. She was totally blitzed. I think that’s what convinced me he was the real deal. She sensed his special aura.
Santaland was pretty awesome too. There were model trains, dancing teddy bears and singing trees to entertain the hordes as we queued to see the man in red. Americans don’t do anything by half measures.
The look on the eldest′s face when she was finally ushered into Santa’s tiny faux living room was priceless. She was giddy with joy. She raced over, climbed onto a step at his feet and stood whispering to him for a few moments as we cajoled her little sister to get a bit closer.
Santa made such a big deal of eldest, they chatted like old friends. He recalled seeing her the year before, asked if she’d been a good girl in the meantime.
When it was photo time, she clambered straight onto his lap and wrapped her arms around him in adoration. No one, not even her Pop, has ever received that level of loving attention from the eldest. It was startling to witness, but incredibly sweet at the same time.
I was thinking she’d be a total cynic about the Santa Claus thing. She’d certainly been asking lots of probing questions in the lead-up to our visit. But Real Santa was so impressive – he had chubby cheeks, twinkling eyes and a gentle manner that made you feel like he had all the time in the world to spend with you.
I was mildly panicked afterwards, because she asked him for a Barbie doll, totally out of the blue. What’s the parental etiquette in such circumstances? If a toy is specifically requested in the presence of Santa, is it required to materialise on Christmas Day?
Yes, yes, I know, if he was the real Santa, it should’ve been his problem, not mine. But everyone knows there are far too many little girls and boys in the world these days for him to gift personally. Despite the explanation Arthur Christmas so entertainingly offered.
Fast forward five years. The eldest is 10. I thought she might be past the whole Santa thing, but no, she insisted on a trip to the city to see him. The man in red at our local Westfield was much more convenient (for me) but she wasn’t having a bar of it. So in we trekked. I figured it might be our last visit.
We haven’t discussed the whole “is Santa real?” thing. I’ve no idea what she’s thinking. She simply asked the bloke in the stuffy little room at Myer for “surprises” for Christmas and he asked “What year at school are you in?” (I think he was startled by her size).
Surprises leaves things wide open and I’ve kind of gone for broke. Because it might be the last “kiddie” Christmas. Which is why I’ve harassed my parents into ditching their lovely harbour-view hotel room to spend Christmas Eve at our place. That way they can be their Christmas morning for the excitement of those Santa sacks being eviscerated.
Can’t wait!
PS Mind you, These two brothers have had their photo taken with Santa for 34 years. Click here to take a look – the last few are epic: http://bit.ly/18J6Yf1
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