Santa reborn

During the season of giving, the man in red makes a special sacrifice for the ones he loves

By RANI JHALA

Rita limped her way into her lounge room and dropped the shopping bags onto the nearest couch. Her legs were aching, her back was sore and her throat was parched dry, but she was happy! Happy that she had finally completed her Christmas shopping and that the last of the gifts were now secure in her home.

Kicking off her low-heeled sandals, she walked barefoot into the kitchen. There she gulped down two glasses of water in quick succession. Then she returned, armed with a pair of scissors, tape, ribbons and gift tags. Carefully and lovingly she wrapped each gift and placed them under the magnificent Christmas tree.

Like her, the tree was old. It had been a regular feature in her home, until her youngest woke one Christmas morning to declare that there was no Santa Claus. After that, the Christmas tree served purely as an ornamental piece during the festive season. It was no longer the magical place where Santa left gifts.

It was only after the grandchildren came along that the tree was restored to its former glory. It was decorated with love and placed in the centre of the room where it shaded the many gifts under its glittering branches.

Now on another Christmas Eve, it once again stood tall and accepted each gift that Rita so lovingly placed near its trunk. When all the gifts had been wrapped and strategically positioned, Rita returned to the kitchen.

There she finished cooking the last of the dishes that were going to make up Christmas lunch - her special leg of ham, roast vegetables, Christmas cake, trifle, white Christmas, fruit mince pies and fruit punch. For the adults there were also rum balls, Christmas plum pudding and brandy sauce, mango daiquiri and Champagne punch.

By the time she had completed all the tasks on her list, it was almost five o’clock. She had just enough time for a quick shower before her son came to collect her. The grandchildren had insisted that they all go to the Carols by Starlight. Now seated under the star-studded sky, Rita watched the joyous faces of her grandchildren as they clapped and danced to the songs. And at the happiness they expressed as Santa’s sleigh whizzed onto the stage. At midnight as the last carol was sung the air reverberated with the words ‘Silent Night, Holy Night’ and together, as a family, they welcomed in Christmas Day.

As soon as the carols ended, the kids stood up, collected their rugs and walking up to Rita asked, “Nana, can we go and see what Santa has left for us?”

Rita smiled. She knew that Santa was going to be very popular, for she had bought the children just what they had wanted.

As the kids had predicted, Santa had already been to their place and left the gifts for each member of the family. The wrapping paper was torn apart to reveal their much-wanted gifts. Her youngest grandchild said it well, when she shouted, “I love you, Santa!”

The aching legs, the painful back and the tired body was all forgotten as Rita watched the joy on the faces of her seven grandchildren.

Now as she watched them beam with joy, she finally understood why she had revived the celebration.

Lost in thought, she was brought back to the present, as her youngest son Jay said, “Mum, look how exhausted you are. Let this year be the last Christmas celebration. The kids are older now.”

“Not yet, son, it won’t be long before they question the significance of Santa and the tree. Let me enjoy a few more with them,” she replied.

“But, mum,” Jay said. “We are not even Christians. For whom are you doing all this?”

Rita looked at her son. Had he already forgotten the joy he had felt seeing this same tree? Had he forgotten that he too had once begged Santa to come to their home?

“Jay, I am now doing it for them.”

“But mum, you and I know that Santa does not exist. We are misleading them.”

“Like everything that rests on faith, Santa lives till we want him to. Let them love him a bit longer. The world will take away this pleasure soon enough,” Rita answered.

“Do you know why we gave up our belief in Santa? It was not the world. It was because we saw Dad drink the milk we had left for Santa. We even saw dad eat the cookies and then leave the gifts under the tree. For me, Santa died that night,” responded Jay.

“I know, my son. I often told your father that there was no need for him to pretend to be Santa, but he said that you had once asked him if Santa was real and he had replied, ‘Santa will be real if you want him to be, otherwise he will be a part of your imagination.’ He said, you had responded by saying, ‘I don’t want Santa to be part of my imagination’.”

“I remember that, mum, but by pretending to be Santa, he took more than he gave.”

“No, my son, he gave more than he should have,” Rita replied.

As her son raised an eyebrow, Rita continued, “Every year, your father would drink the milk each of you left out and he would eat the cookies meant for Santa, for he knew that you all were expecting that. He did that for his kids and for your belief in Santa. He even ignored the doctor’s warning. Your father was a celiac

The aching legs, the painful back and the tired body was all forgotten as Rita watched the joy on the faces of her seven grandchildren

Rita smiled. She knew that Santa was going to be very popular, for she had bought the children just what they had wanted and he was also lactose-intolerant. Neither was the milk good for him, nor were the cookies.”

For many moments after that, Jay remained silent. When he went to bed that night he knew that next year, Santa would be reborn. If his non-Christian father could become Santa for him, then surely he could don the red suit for his own kids.

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