An Underwhelming Santa

Thursday was Santa day at Clara's daycare, and I found myself vying with Santa Claus himself for a parking space. He and I passed each other two or three times as we criss-crossed the streets near the daycare. He was in-costume, and his enormous, curling beard rested on the steering wheel of his Chevy Cavalier (one of the daycare administrators later expressed relief over his new set of wheels. Apparently he used to drive an orange Nova).

I grimaced as I finally succumbed to the "bad" parking space, an ambiguously available nearby curb that seemed to invite fender-benders. Parents streamed down the sidewalk. A mom in black, knee-high stiletto boots and a coat that belted at the waist led a little girl dressed to the nines in red and green. A dad carried a tiny baby wearing polished black loafers. I'd totally forgotten about Santa's visit, but it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway. We'd already told Clara that Santa was made-up.

Still, she sensed the excitement as we got out of the car. She was, unfortunately, dressed entirely in pink. As for me, I'd simply hopped into the car in a trusty pair of black sweats and an oversized T-shirt that read, "I lost my shirt at Simon's bar mitzvah so I had to wear this one home" (yes, I own a T-shirt from my husband's 1994, Las Vegas-themed bar mitzvah). My hair, a newly minted boxed shade of "ancient sunrise," stuck up all over the place. I thought, when I cut it short, that it would be easier to style, little knowing that "styling" would require sticking my head under the faucet every damn morning. I took a deep breath and hoped Santa wouldn't judge.

The daycare center director, who is nearly six feet tall, met us at the door dressed as an elf with a sleigh bell at the end of her pointy hat.
"I think I passed Santa looking for a space," I told her.
"Oh dear, is he having trouble parking his sleigh?" she said.

The main room inside was packed with daycare workers, parents, and kids. Clara wended her way through the legs to sit near her class. Everyone was singing "Jingle Bells," and "Feliz Navidad" in anticipation of Santa's entrance. Clara doesn't know these songs, but she gamely lip-synced along (though what she might have been lip-syncing is anyone's guess). The kids were excited but the grown-ups were really excited, and I could tell Clara found this confusing. A few of the grown-ups seemed almost a little feverish, as if they were about to be raptured. People clapped and hooted as Santa entered, and Clara nodded, grinned, and whacked together her stuffed dog Floppy and her princess-themed sippy cup.

"Ho-ho-ho!" Santa shouted, and then he hacked and hawked into his hand. "A little too much fuzz from the beard," he said. Santa and cats: they both hawk up fur balls now and again.

The director and teachers decided that the babies should be the first to sit on Santa's lap. Santa settled himself into the red-colored throne the preschool teacher had fixed up for him, and a set of parents handed him their baby boy.

The baby looked to be about ten months old, and the parents had carefully parted his hair on the side and swept it over like John F Kennedy's. As soon as the kid's little diapered-bottom hit Santa's lap, he stuck out his arms and gasped as though he'd just come over the top of a Six Flags roller coaster. Then he held his breath for a minute, and his cheeks popped out and his face turned bright red. Then he screamed. The parents all giggled diabolically. The daycare administrator twittered as she passed around her iPhone with a photo of the kid's beet-red, tear-streaked face.

I had to leave before it was Clara's turn to sit on Santa's lap, but when I picked her up later that afternoon, I asked her what she'd asked him for.

Her eyes widened, and she whispered, "A candycane!"

"You did?" I replied, surprised. My kid really, really does not know what Santa is all about.

"Yes, and then he gave me one," she said, shaking her head in astonishment.

"Is that all you asked him for?" I said.

"N-o-o-o-o. I also asked him to sing me a song. And... he... did!!"

"Wow," I said, trying to imagine what Santa might have thought of her. He probably thought she came from an extremely disadvantaged home, little knowing that Hanukkah Harry has been sending us packages since the day after Thanksgiving.

The next day Clara was talking about Santa, and Simon asked Clara where she thought Santa lived.

"In an old person's home," she replied.