The Joy of Christmas

Christmas really is a special time of the year.

I have always loved Christmas.

There’s a kind of mood that develops around about a couple of weeks before Christmas Eve, gradually intensifies right up to the day and then carries on through to boxing day. You can feel it in the office, in the streets, with the people you meet, in the bars and restaurants. It’s a positive feeling like no other, goodwill to all man and all that kind of stuff.

When I was young, growing up in Perth, Western Australia,it was personified in school Christmas plays or charity drives, Christmas decorations going up in shops and in the streets, local councils holding carols by candle light events and of course, the inevitable trip to go and see Santa, who initially was the main man, and then, as we got older and wiser, became a vehicle through which my brothers, sisters and I, could convey to our parents what we wanted that year for Christmas.

The memory of what I actually received is long since gone. But that Christmas feeling is remembered with clarity.

I have many, many stories about Christmas. It’s a unique time of year and as such, many weird and wonderful things tend to happen.

However, there are two tales in particular I’d like to share with you now, which for me, sum up what Christmas is really all about.

The joy of giving.

Around about the age of 19, while I was desperately trying to figure out who I was and what role I was destined to play in this often confusing and challenging world we live in, I was asked by my father to be Santa Claus at one of his musical productions, that were an annual event at that time of year. Dad wrote children’s musicals and often invited schools from the local area to come and experience his shows. Teachers, pining for school holidays and trying to fill in the remaining allotted duress, were only too glad to accept the offer and his shows became extremely popular with teachers, parents and children alike. As well as normal schools, Dad would organise for schools of disadvantaged kids and children with disabilities to come to a special performance in which there would be Christmas dinner provided after the show and an appearance from Santa.

I remember being really nervous and at the same time really proud that my father had chosen to bestow this honor on me as I walked out adorned in red Santa ensemble with an oversized white beard covering my face, head bowed timidly, onto a raised stage which was situated at one end of the extensive and rather imposing dining hall, now filled to capacity with excited children and their guardians. I sat down (with eyes still fixed firmly on the floor in front of me) on a rather grandiose Santa’s throne painted in gold with red velvet upholstery, situated imperiously in the middle of the stage and illuminated by a bright spotlight.

I then took a deep breath and finally looked up.

As I gazed out over the hundreds of wide eyed faces, all looking excitedly at the mystical figure who now sat waiting to listen to their heart-felt desires and requests, I was filled with a sense of panic. Could I really do this? Would I be able to at least in some way perform the role assigned to me with some semblance of credibility to the discerning audience before me?

A line was quickly formed at the right hand side of the stage and one by one, each child approached, some aided, some in wheel chairs, all thrilled in anticipation of their impending special audience with Santa.

Many of the children asked for the usual bike, Barbie doll etc. However, the odd child would ask for something more personal like, that "My Dad would find a new job" or "My parents would get back together.” Some couldn’t speak due to their disability, but the twinkle in their eyes or the smile that spread across their face when it was their turn was extremely heart warming. Many were content just for the experience and that unique feeling of goodness and goodwill to all men that only really happens at Christmas.

I distinctly remember feeling a strong, over powering sensation of the entire room and all those in attendance, being filled with a special warmth, happiness & peace.

It took a good couple of hours to see each child, and it required that I greeted every single one of them with a "Ho,Ho,Ho," a welcoming smile and a whole lot of patience.

Nevertheless, the time flew by as each encounter for me was a learning and moving experience and by the time the day had ended, being Santa had filled me with a sense of pride, humbleness and joy like no other experience I’d ever had before.

***

My second story is about my father, his amazing sense of occasion and love of giving.

One Christmas, Dad called us all together to inform us that due to financial restrictions, Santa had told him he would be unable to give each of the seven children exactly what we wanted for Christmas and that we should ask for something small and affordable.

Among other things my brother Tim had wanted a drum kit, my two sisters a new bike, one of my brothers had wanted a stereo. All quite an outlay when you multiply these demands by seven.

Although there was now a general feeling of disappointment amongst the children, we all took it on the chin, accepted the status quo and requested things like books, CD’s, clothes and other types of stocking fillers, instead of what we truly desired.

On Christmas morning, we all woke with the usual excitement and went to the living room to see what Santa had left for us in the pillow slips that we had placed and organised very carefully next to the fire place the night before, for him to fill.

Inside, each of us found that CD or book we had asked for. But in addition, at the bottom of the pillow slip, there was something else.

A note from Santa.

Well it was more like a clue than a note.

Dad explained that Santa had told him that he had hidden another present for each of us. But in order to receive it, we had to follow the clues to find where said presents now lay hidden.

The clues weren't easy.

Cryptic.

Big kids had to help their younger brothers and sisters figure out their riddles, if they could. Even after we solved them, often it needed Dad to explain Santa’s logic, which at times was highly questionable. However it provided us with a challenge, a sense of curiosity and a good solid hour of entertainment.

Eventually, after being sent all around the house, inside and out, our clues all lead to the next door neighbor’s garage. Dad waited until all of us had reached the intended destination before joining us and ringing the next door neighbor’s door bell. The neighbor greeted us, coffee in hand, with a big grin and a rather enthusiastic "Merry Christmas," which revealed not only was he not bothered to be up at 6 am in the morning, but also that he was just as excited as we were to be a part of this Christmas treasure hunt. This enthusiastic accomplice to Santa’s devious plan, paused for a moment, grinned warmly at us, then pressed the button on the remote control he had in his hand and we watched impatiently as the garage door slowly opened.

Once the door was fully opened, the neighbor walked a few paces over to the nearest wall and switched on the light.

It was a moment of pure magic.

None of us had been prepared for this.

I looked around at my brothers and sisters to see that they too were standing with mouths wide open in awe of the sight that lay before us. Inside was an Aladdin’s cave of treasures.

A drum kit.

Two bikes.

A stereo.

Everything that we had originally wanted and more. 
I don’t remember what I asked for that year.

Nor even what I received.

But I do remember the joy on the faces of my siblings.

And the big smile of contentment on the face of my father.

Santa George White.

Many years later, while in conversation with my mother, I discovered that at the time my parents were in a financially difficult situation. However, Dad had so wanted to give his children what they wanted and provide that special moment for us all, that he had taken out a significant loan in order to make that desire a reality, thus putting himself under more financial pressure in the process.

What for Dad was important, was not the money.

But the joy of giving.

Kit Calder-White is the author of the Soundtrack Of My Life series. Volume one: First Love is available now on Amazon and from most online book retailers.