Santa Claus was taken off life support for good on a South Florida beach in the summer of 1980. With kids over the age of 10 Santa's popularity had been fading, but I just couldn't give up on him until I received verification. It came on what remains one of the most memorable days of my life.
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| The original 5 - Christmas 2018 |
We were on a family beach trip. My father called me and my brother down from the condo to sit with him in the sand. I am the oldest of 3 and my radar was immediately up and operational. Poor John, who was but 9 years of age, was clueless and ill-equipped for what was to come. I've struggled for 38 years to grasp why my wonderful father chose the manner in which he delivered the news. Maybe he needed something interesting to go with the bad news. Perhaps it was because he had boys who were a mere 3 years apart. Maybe he just wanted to knock out two of the hardest parts of parenting in one quick strike. Whatever the reason, the wonderful man decided that on that day, in one sitting, he would set out to reveal to his boys two life-changing bits of information - the fact that Santa did not exist and the reality of the "Birds and the Bees." Why? Why?
He asked us to sit in the sand. I stared into the Atlantic, not knowing why we were there but knowing a moment of great import was at hand. My brother dawdled in the sand and played with an action figure. Santa died quickly. "Boys, I have good news and bad news." I braced myself. Had someone died? Was Mom leaving him? Had our baby sister, Amy, been kidnapped? "The bad news first - There is no Santa." What served as confirmation to me must have been shocking to my brother, but due to the straight-forward delivery we both sat quietly, heads down, stunned. The boys at school were right. Dammit. In the previous two Christmases my inquisitive mind required me to stage an investigation - Dad left on Christmas Eve to pick up the gifts at the Smither's house. I'd stayed up, heard the engine of our station wagon fire up and timed his departure and return. The Smithers lived in our neighborhood. It was the only answer. A father's duty is painful. He'd just ripped the bandaid off. In his kindness, his attempt to soften the blow, he said that we should all still act like Santa exists for the benefit of my sister. I was blessed to have a sister who was 7 years younger. "It's very important for you to keep Santa alive for her," he said. Once he said that, I took a deep breath and went back to believing. I had to. It was required. For Amy. I exhaled and checked in on John, who was obviously in profound shock and deep thought. He had a look on his face like a 3 year old with a Rubik's Cube. What could be the "good news?" I wondered. I didn't have to wait long.
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| Santa and the Easter Bunny |
"Now I want to tell you the good news. I'm going to talk to you about Sex." My heart stopped. Wow, what a swing! Just as there were rumors of Santa at school, there was talk of a great mystery emerging in the halls of Farragut Middle School for 12 year olds like me. The talk coincided with the development of lumps beneath girls sweaters and hair showing up under the arms of boys. The talk at school was scandalous and fascinating. Where Santa's execution had been swift and taken but a few seconds, my brother and I were introduced to the "good news" for the better part of the next hour. John kept playing in the sand, eventually drifting off into the mind of the 9 year old he was, the traumatic suppression of the event already setting in. I was fascinated and horrified. I wanted off of the rollercoaster, to climb into the fetal position and tell Santa what I wanted for Christmas. With the patience of a saint and the precision and detail of an engineer at Ferrari, my father went to work. He detailed the male and female anatomy and its purposes in great detail. He used the sand to diagram all manner of things, and I couldn't avoid the vision of cavemen using the same method thousands of years before. He spoke words I'd never heard and explained the function of each body part. He spoke of function and biology and, then, of pleasure and romance. In some aspects of the subject he jumped from the basic course to upper level advanced courses. It was overwhelming. I'd not brought along enough legal pads. He certainly wanted to knock it all out at once. It is the first use of shock and awe. Five minutes in, I'd long forgotten about the disappointment of Santa as he both confirmed and expanded on the things I'd been hearing from those boys in the dangerous halls of Farragut Middle. Neither John nor I uttered a word. I don't know that I breathed during the presentation. Years later I would be glad that Power Point wasn't available. I wanted it to stop while at the same time formulating a great many questions and a desire for more information until he reached a point where, I have no doubt, the look on our faces let him know that we were just incapable of absorbing or processing any more information on the subject. We were exhausted. He paused. "Do you have any questions?" he said, and I was horrified. I immediately looked at John and with my eyes said, "If you ask a question I will kill you in your sleep," but John's never taken well to my cues. "I have one," said the youngest of the two traumatized boys. My father braced himself and nodded his head. I closed my eyes and prayed for a comet to land on me.
"So... I guess this means there is no Easter Bunny?"
Merry Christmas!
