I wore the Red Suit (4 page)

Get down to the kids level if possible. Sit on the floor with the children, the suit can be cleaned later. If you can make a child's youth brighter, then go for it
. Dealing with children during the holidays, plus those that are on sugar high
from all the cookies and candy is a completely new experience. Life is too short not to grab every opportunity you can. Playing Santa for over fifteen years is quite an experience. However, it has only been this past Christmas season as Santa that I come to realize the power I possess. It dawned on me one Saturday afternoon at the mall. I was watching a scattering of parents in the long line waiting for their child to sit with Santa. Most malls Santa’s only work 2-4-hour shifts, so these unique blend of parents who look down at others can go by unobserved. They are good to their children, but the rest of humanity can go to hell. My 8-10-hour shifts allow me to see a good cross-section of the parents who surround us. Before I go on, let me say that I am not lessening the role of parenthood, and all that it holds. I am a parent myself; it takes a lot of hard work and time. That elusive and all knowing books about what to do as a parent has still to be written. It is those adults who do not like to wait for their turn to put a happy or screaming child on Santa’s knee. I have seen parents constantly prod those in front of them to move up, very impatiently to say the least. I saw one case where a child broke away from the mother in line and run to Frosty the Snowman as he walked through the mall. The mother left the line and darted after the child, caught him, and tried to regain her place. The parent who was behind her originally, would not let her back in. I can see several others behind agreeing with the stubborn parent not letting the mother back in line where she was with a nod of their collective heads. Other times (more than often), parents will let another mother or father with a crying child move several places ahead in line.
 
I will gauge my time with each child based on how long the line is. The most parents would have to wait is 15-20 minutes as I tend to keep the line constantly moving. The time the child is sitting on my knee is shortened, but not so much as anyone will notice. I learned to control those lines by managing the time limit spent with each child. It lessened the ire of the parents who had to wait. Still, even with the less wait time in the line to see me, I cannot control those random individuals who
cruised up and jumped the line. I have instructed the elves when they see or hear of someone jumping ahead, ask that person(s) to go to the end of the line and wait their turn. It may anger a few people that have to go to the back of the line, but it is better than upsetting all those that have waited patiently for their turn. Besides, those angered will just walk away. I have not heard of any complaints from the store managers of a customer that complained that they had to go to the end of the line, because they jumped in front of those already waiting.

The power I refer to is not a magical or mythical thing, nor is it something that can be held in your hand. It is knowing that by a single convincing "sure, Santa will bring you that for Christmas" carries the weight of unbridled power. After a long day of kids, wanting everything from toy cars to a sunbeam usually heightens my sensitivity. Enter a parent who complains about my staff. Who, by the way, had the proper training, and always put service to the customer foremost. When a parent complains just to hear themselves complain forces that power to well up in me. Not in anger as though an inner barometer device goes from calm to stupid, but with their child on my knee, I could easily say to them, "my size Barbee? No problem, I will bring you two! Of course, I would never do that to a child. I by no means promise them anything; it is always that I will try or I will do my best to bring them something on Christmas.

Always Something New

Twins

While sitting in a large overstuffed green velvet chair, I see several sets of twins in my role as Santa. Dealing with the volume of visitors who come to the malls, there are bound to be more than a few encounters with twins, triplets and even quadruplets. Now this one set of twins before me, in particular, was unusual. They were two boys, about six years old. Watching them approach me, I could see that they are identical in every outward appearance. In addition, like most twins, the parents have dressed them with matching outfits. As the mirror-image children came and sat on each knee, I asked one what he wanted for Christmas. With large eyes filled with amazement, he did not answer; instead, the other twin told me what he himself wanted. Once more, I asked the one boy on my left knee what he wanted for Christmas. Again, the twin on the right piped up that he also wanted a Ninja Turtles Sweat shirt. So figuring that the left twin was shy, I switched my attention to the boy on my right knee.

I lightly pinched his cheek and asked. “What else do you want for Christmas, besides the sweat shirt?” He did not say a word, but now the quiet child on my left knee started talking, as he wanted Ghost Busters Power Pack, a horn for his bike and Ninja Turtle Socks. I asked the twin on my right, (who was talkative a minute ago) what he wanted for Christmas. This one twin would not answer. The twin on my left says; that is all he wants. Meanwhile, the mother who stood watching the whole exchange decided to bring me up to speed on what they were doing. This was good timing, since I thought I was going a little nutty. It seems that not only today, but always they will talk for each other. If you ask one twin a question, the other would answer and vice-a-versa. You would not know this she says; what Bobby told you on the left, is what Jeremy on the right wants. Bobby does not like Ghost Busters anything, and he already has a horn on his bike. What a weird day, and it is only ten o’clock in the morning. To this day, I have never had a set of twins sit with me when one of them was not crying
. The
expressions would range from awe and a mild unhappiness to all-out terror.

Twins are one experience, but triplets are another. It was three times the tears, laughs, and the love that surrounded them.
 
Some parents will even explore the possibility of bringing their triplets to see me by stopping by without them at first. “Santa, we have triplets, do you think we can bring them to see you and if possible they can sit for a picture?” They were amazed that I agreed. “Of course, please bring them anytime. I have seen twins, triplets, and even quadruplets; the more the merrier.” I tell all parents that there will be a matter of logistics getting more than two children to sit and smile into the camera, but we will try. One way I found that works with multiples, is that you have them sit with Santa one at a time. It seems they watch each other go through the sitting time and is it less hectic or scary. Besides,
every child deserves their own moment in the spotlight with Santa. Unless your twins or triplets specifically say they want to sit on Santa's lap together, give them the chance for a personal one-on-one with the big man.
The parents would like to have the two, three, or four kids all at once, but when one tries to escape or cries, the other will join in, even if he/she is ok with Santa. A picture of each child with Santa is better than no picture at all.

Weird or Wonderful

I have seen so many children wearing all kinds of jewelry over the years when they come visiting me; even the tiniest of babies have rings on their little fingers. All manners of kids with earrings, necklaces and some even have watches on their tiny wrists. I do not know any six-month old child that can tell time. Mostly they just try to eat it. As we are not far from the Military Academy at West Point, cadets get into the picture with Santa too. One especially long night at the mall, four cadets coerce a lower classmate to sit on my knee and get his picture taken.
 
I made him feel better when I gave him a candy cane, stood and gave a snappy salute out of respect when he was ready to leave. I once had a mother who wanted a picture taken of Santa with a large photograph of her deceased child. Most times, I never asked the reason behind some of these requests. Another woman who brought an urn filled with the ashes of her dead husband and asked that I held it while she took a picture. It is a good thing I am not squeamish. I doubt very seriously that these people have a real mental problem. I expect people looking on would think so. To me, it is like that they are still dealing with the recent death of a loved one and these actions help. Realizing this makes my dealing with people and others more compassionate and natural. Trying my best way I know of to accommodate them and be sensitive to their feelings. I never knew people were like this. If I had not put on the red suit and sat in this chair, I might never have been exposed to this in my life. I just thought Santa saw children and smiled for a picture. I once believed that the only hard part of playing Santa was making sure there were enough candy canes to go around. It can be something more than that if you let it. It is connecting with the child or parent who has come to see you. Deep inside, I think we all want to believe in something; why not Santa.

One cute little brown-haired girl smiled at me as she approached. She had just this minute come from the dentist, and for the holiday season, she had alternating red and green brackets on her teeth for her braces. She told me that the Christmas season was especially joyful for her. So every time she smiled at herself in a mirror she would think of the holidays. “She hoped that when she smiled at others, they would become joyful too.” A child's mind is wonderful in its simplistic views on life. I have two children of my own. One son thinks I am silly for doing this Santa gig, and the other does not quite know what to make of it yet. I think that inside they like what I am doing for the other children. They were both teenagers at the time I started my Santa adventures, so it did not quite fit being cool yet.

My oldest son came home from high school, and he told me this little story. It seems a couple of the most popular young women were shopping in the mall, and decided to have their picture taken with Santa. Only because he looked like the real one, did they invest their money to have a picture taken. Six or seven dollars are important to a teenager who thinks about gas in a car or movies. I expect most of those kids try at least to manage their cash flow. I am sure the other kids thought it was a cool idea anyway. After showing almost everyone in the school, they finally came across my son and showed him. “Look Jake” they said. “Is this Santa neat? He is so cool when he talked to us.” One girl said, “I even tried to pull his beard, and it didn't come off.” My son told me he looked at the picture and told the girls that Santa was, in reality, his dad. He also told them that he never knows where I am going to turn up next. He feigns disinterest most of the time, but I think he is proud of me. Moreover, I am sure this made points with Martha, who he had been mooning over since his freshman year.

1000 Malls

I have learned to limit my hours sitting in the mall as Santa. I found that doing long hours is tiring. For example; Friday after Thanksgiving I did fourteen hours straight, then the next day, Saturday, thirteen hours; finally, Sunday, another
 
nine hours. I just had sat in that chair for a total of thirty-six hours with only four bathroom breaks during that whole actual time on the set. Doing too many hours is not only mind numbing, but after a while, the children could feel the tension in my actions. Tiredness can get to you and then become a problem. All I want to do is rush them through the line. Clock watching becomes a common practice. With shorter hours sitting, I was surprised that the time passed so quickly. It appears the fun of being in crowds of children stops after more than six hours a day as an elfish character. The environment all around me becomes an irritation; right down to the smell of fast food on the kid’s breath and clothes. When a person is tired and hungry and cannot satisfy either; the bubbly and energetic children and the aroma of fries and burgers can be almost unbearable.
 
Still, I try to finish my set on a high note. The following season I reduce my time to be only six-hours a day. It just means that the marketing department that contracts the Santa’s need to hire a couple of extra men to fill those other hours.
 
However, at least I turned irritation back into having fun again.

Advertising the arrival of Santa is important, or in some cases, the lack of advertising can dampen the spirits of those people who are waiting for me to arrive. I have no control of making sure the media is alerted to my or any other Santa’s arrival date and time. This responsibility falls on the shopping mall sale’s department that notifies the newspapers, radios, and TV stations. The marketing department at the mall just gives me a start date and time. I lost track to the number of people that came up to me and say, “I thought you were coming next week? One woman who looks like she just threw on clothes, whether they matched or not; with three kids in tow said to me, “a friend of mine told me you were at the mall already. I wrapped my children up to come and see you before the crowds started. I missed opening day, and that makes me sad.” Imagine my feelings, as I have just disappointed a mother and child. I went back and checked the papers before opening day for at least two weeks. There was no notice of me coming to the mall. I could find no bulletins, news flash, or blurb.
 
From then on, I would always talk to the marketing department and tell them that I have my start date, “stop the presses and alert the media!”