David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published Dec. 9, 2003

Santa in dire need of some good PR

Being Santa is a serious gig. You don't mess with him, that's for certain. The Jolly Ol' Elf is not to be trifled with.

Before I continue, let me warn my fellow Santa ambassadors to keep their little believers away from this column. I can't fathom why an 8-year-old would be perusing a newspaper's opinion page, but you never know. Any tyke precocious enough to understand a newspaper column with grownup words like "precocious" has probably long since abandoned Santa, anyway. I won't come right out and say IT anywhere here, but an extraordinarily savvy 8-year-old might be able to piece it together.

"Piece what together, Dad?" Nothing. Nothing at all. I'll take this page. You can read the classifieds.

Now that fair warning has been given, let me say that this is the first year Santa will be putting in a full-blown visit to our house. As we all know, Santa places children's homes at the top of his delivery route. He doesn't often visit late-sleeping bachelors, college students or childless couples.

My daughter, however, will be 3 in April, so the time is right for Santa to swoop down our chimney. Phil, our 11-month-old, could care less about Christmas. As long as he has a Triscuit to gnaw on, he's a happy boy.

But how does a Santa proxy like me prepare a young child for The Big Guy's arrival? I am certain she would thoroughly enjoy the Santa experience, but the problem is she has not been properly primed for the occasion. She doesn't know the magic and joy Santa can bring. She couldn't have picked Santa out of a lineup a month ago. It's taken considerable effort on my and my wife's part to even get her to recognize Santa. After all, she's only 2. For all she knows, a red coat with white fur trim is nothing more than typical winter wear. Everyone wears a coat during winter, so what makes this guy's so special? Maybe the hat is a little odd, but it's not too awfully bizarre.

For instance, the four of us would be out and about performing our humdrum chores when what before my wandering eye should appear but Santa himself! "Look, Anna, there's Santa!" I'd say, pointing directly at him.

"Where?" she'd respond, even though it was obvious she was looking right at the guy.

"The man in the red suit," I'd say.

"Oh. Hi, Santa," she'd muster with all the enthusiasm as if I pointed out some guy I worked with 10 years ago.

That's when it became obvious that Santa needed good PR at our house. He needed the hype.
Building the Santa foundation is tough with a 2-year-old. I'm sure she'll embrace Santa eventually, but she just seems confused now. An adult we don't know is going to bring me toys? Come to think of it, that is rather peculiar. Who is this man and why is he bringing me toys? Her grandparents do the same thing and no one leaves cookies out for them. And he somehow knows when I've been naughty? Is he always watching me? That's a little creepy. Is he in the closet or something? Well, yes, Santa knows when you've been naughty and nice, but he's able to make that determination without direct contact. He has his ways, and it's best not to ask too many questions. No, he's not in the closet. That's where the monster lives.

For a 2-year-old, talk is cheap. Her Mom and I can tout Santa's merits until we're blue in the face, but the most persuasive evidence will come Christmas morning when Santa puts up or shuts up. The cookies will be half-eaten, the glass of milk will be half-empty (or half-full, depending on your philosophical inclination), the stockings will be stuffed with goodies, and there will be a glut of presents under the tree. That's when the glory of Santa Claus will be revealed.

For now, though, I'm enjoying one of Santa's ancillary benefits. When she asks for a new toy at the store, I employ the time-honored "Maybe Santa will bring it to you if you're nice." Even though I don't think she fully understands what that means, it occupies her thoughts until she forgets about the toy. If she doesn't forget about it and mentions the toy an hour later, that tells me it's something she really wants and not just a passing impulse. Santa makes a mental note. Santa didn't just fall off the turnip truck.

Managing one of Santa's branch offices is a big responsibility, but it's one I relish.

I hope your savvy 8-year-old enjoyed browsing through the classifieds.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.