Once upon a time… I was in a Rotary Club that was going to sing Christmas carols at an old age home, but because I couldn’t sing or dance, I had to be Santa. I had to wear a huge red Santa suit, and a big grey beard that hooked behind my ears, install two king-sized pillows into my new jolly belly and then keep it all together with a big black belt to hold my pants up.
It took a long time to assemble Santa, so I dressed at home and drove in my little BMW Z3 convertible to the event. I’m a good driver, but I was listening to Jingle Bell Rock or the Chipmunks or something and I found myself as the last car in the middle of an intersection trying to turn left into an old age home as the light changed. All of a sudden, there was loud honking as traffic passed in front of me and behind me as I spread Christmas joy throughout the intersection.
It was a pretty long light, so I got a lot of attention from the Santa-stalled traffic. Everybody was honking at me and children were laughing and waving at Santa from the backseat in the slow moving cars that went past me as the traffic jam spread like a stain in all directions. When the light changed, the last car to get past me gave me a Merry Christmas two-fisted finger and stopped in front of me and leaned on the horn as we spread our joy of Christmas in all directions.
That is the exact place. The “when” and “where,” the “place and time” I lost my Christmas spirit those many years ago.
It’s not come back yet. Someday I may want to be Santa again, but not yet. I still have Santa PTSD but I’m working my way through it. I try to think about happy things as I fight to regain my real inner Santa. I imagine I am taking a warm shower:
Santa
Like a massive multicolored parachute
His boxers have collapsed upon the floor
Slightly south of a wrinkled Santa suit
That was left just outside the bathroom door.
A bunch of imagined elves in repose,
Smokin’ cigarettes, feet on the table,
Hangin’ and laughin’ ’bout Rudolf’s nose
Are lovin’ life as only elves are able.
Another Christmas is, at long last, past
As the fat man shampoos in the shower
And thinks of golf and summer thoughts at last.
Who’s this metaphor for redemptive power?
An old fat guy driving a sled with gifts?
A father at midnight is what it is.
——
If you are like me and somewhere, perhaps in some random traffic jam, you also lost your Christmas spirit, here is Santa’s two-step solution:
First, seriously get over yourself and just do something nice for someone else. I’m serious about this! It can be nothing but a random act of kindness but make it happen. You will be amazed at what will happen. It will rekindle that lost Christmas spirt. Don’t expect anything in return.
…And second, when you are asked who gave you this advice, straight out tell them, without hesitation, that you got the advice from Santa. There’s a pretty good chance you can share a free Christmas dinner in some state institution.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from me to you. Peace on Earth! Make it happen with random acts of kindness while expecting nothing in return.
P.S. A little side note: If you want to make commercial Santa’s Christmas, you can buy his book, An Accidental Diary: A Sonnet a Week for a Year on Amazon. Or maybe pick up his new book, The Older You Get the Shorter Your Stories Should Be at The Ivy Bookstore in Baltimore, The Manner Mill in Monkton, Maryland, or at https://bookshop.org/shop/robertrbowiejr)