“I guess I looked so good in the suit and had such a wonderful, resonant, "Ho, Ho, Ho" that requests streamed in.”
As a child, I guess Christmas was pretty much a great time for me. Our family didn't have a lot of money, but my folks seemed to pull out the stops at Christmas.
One year, my granddaddy made me a wagon. When I caught him working on it during the summer, he told me that it was a stand for grandma's wash tubs! That wagon was one of my very treasured possessions. I even managed to earn a little money at the age of nine hauling groceries home from the store in my neighborhood.
While I was in high school, the youth group in my home church raised money to purchase very life-like figures of the people and animals involved with the Christmas story. My father managed to oversee building a stable out of some slab lumber that came from a sawmill. People created traffic problems in front of our church (and still do 40 years later) looking at the beautiful scene.
My problems with Christmas began in 1963. We had a two year old boy and a two month old girl. We moved to the Texas Panhandle to a small town. Someone asked me if I would put on the city's Santa Claus suit and "be Santa Claus" for the chamber of commerce Christmas kickoff event. Well, I always looked pretty good in red, so I agreed.
I was driven to the airport early in the morning. One of the businessmen put me in his plane and taxied to the end of the runway, outside of the view of the gathering children. We took off, circled the field, and landed right in front of the kids. They were screaming and hollering my name. I got pretty pumped!
Next, I sat on the front seat (mounted on the front bumper) of the big fire truck. Everyone could see me. It was quite chilly, but I still enjoyed leading the lengthy caravan into town. The fire truck deposited me in front of the local theater. I went in, climbed on a big chair and started listening to the sometimes naggy, whining, petulant demands of child after child after child. By the end of the day, I was promising them anything, just to get to the end of the line. My promises made more than one temporary "enemy" of a few of my fellow townspeople!
I guess I looked so good in the suit and had such a wonderful, resonant, "Ho, Ho, Ho" that requests streamed in. People wanted me to visit the sick children in the hospital. How in the world could I turn down that request? Others wanted me to "drop by" the kids at the pre-school for handicapped children. Again, how could I not?
By the time that first Christmas season ended, I'd assumed the Santa Claus role about 15 times. Funny thing. I didn't believe in Santa Claus. We'd decided not to teach our children the traditional view of Santa Claus. And here I was, playing Santa! My own kids had a lot of fun with it. Especially as it dragged on - year after year. I was still "flying" from the North Pole on a Saturday morning before Christmas when we left pastorate of our congregation some ten years later.
I don't believe I realized it at the time, but pretending to be a big fat guy in a red suit really burned me out. Each year after we moved, Christmas had little meaning to me. It was just something I wanted to get through and put behind me. In 1978, my wife and our kids' mom, went Home. Later, Pat and I got married. She noticed that I kinda dampened everyone's enjoyment of Christmas because of my cynicism about the commercialization of Christmas.
After a couple of years, our youngest child, Mark, invented The Christmas Dance Of Joy especially for me. He spontaneously picked up a broom one day and began to dance with it on the kitchen floor. I began laughing and rolling on the floor. The Christmas Dance Of Joy didn't automatically bring me back to a warm and fuzzy celebration of Christmas, but it sure helped. Each year, with the help of Pat, our kids, and our grandkids, I shed the old stereotypical feelings and enter more and more into the true meaning of Christmas.
This year, I've determined to get all the way back. Visit the nativity scenes, see the living, singing Christmas trees here in Sarasota. You know, do more Christmasy stuff! Yep, The Big Fat Guy In The Red Suit Nearly Stole My Christmas! Don't let him steal yours!
Jerry Meyer AKA PapaJ, past away June 21, 2005. He got an early Christmas present. Miss you bunches, Jerry!—Grant