Me playing Santa? Never again!
5.12.2018
Translation: Jessica Johnson-Ferguson
If you’re a dad, a godfather or a friend to a family with kids, you might find yourself confronted with the following question one day: «Would you pretend to be Santa Claus for our child this year?» This happened to me two years ago. And it was awful.
I’d never played Father Christmas before. Sounded easy enough. My wife’s family was kind enough to provide me with the complete Claus costume: Red trousers, a belt, a red cape, a big beard, a pair of glasses, heavy boots, a jute bag and a bell.
The target audience: my three-year-old daughter and my wife’s godchild of the same age. The setting: a forest in Winterthur. My bag was jam-packed with tangerines, nuts and chocolates and also contained a picture book I wanted to read to the wee ones.
Easy, right? Jeez, was I naive.
Daddy’s very busy and won’t be able to join us, is what our daughter was told. So my wife and kid went on their way. «You’ll just meet us there, okay?» my wife whispered in my ear.
That was the first mistake: A lack of communication.
What I did next was make the most of the peace and quiet at home and enjoy a cup of coffee on the sofa. One-and-a-half hours later, I headed off to Winterthur. I had assumed that the target audience would be sitting in a warm apartment, waiting for a phone call that would summon them to the woods. Unfortunately, I had assumed wrong. The three of them had already spent one-and-a-half hours in the cold and wet forest freezing their backsides off.
Oblivious of what was going on, I trudged into the forest where I struggled to put my outfit on in the dark.
That was mistake number two: A lack of preparation.
The stupid belt – a piece of rope – just wouldn’t pass through the tight loops. And the beard I had tried on earlier somehow didn’t fit my face anymore. The desperate little cries echoing through the forest weren’t exactly helping my stress levels either: «Santa Claus! Saaaaaanta Claus! Where are youuuu?»
At last I was changed! Bell in hand, I headed for my audience. An audience that was easy to find thanks to the yelling. Once I reached the clearing, I greeted the half-frozen group with a distorted voice.
That was mistake number three: A lack of self-perception.
The children immediately burst into tears and hid behind their mum (my daughter) or both parents (the godchild). That husky, old man’s voice I had aimed for was not going down well. No way were the kids accepting tangerines from the hands of this creepy Santa. Not even chocolate managed to break the ice. I had to hand the goodies over to the parents so they could pass them on.
«Would you like to hear a story?» I asked them. They did. Excellent! My key skill. This would save the day. I’m a truly outstanding storyteller. Once I start reading, kids generally fall silent and listen to me with wide eyes. Having said that, it turned out that I had brought along the wrong kind of literature.
That was mistake number four: No sense of time.
The picture book I had chosen was way too long. Halfway through the story, I was interrupted by the godchild’s mother. «Listen, Santa. We’ve been in the forest for two hours and are frozen. Could you finish the story another day?» Judging by her tone, this was not a question.
There you have it, the story of my first and probably last performance as Santa Claus. Since then, I have developed a deep respect for all Father Christmases who know their trade. By the way, my daughter did not suffer a trauma. After two years of processing the incident, she has even developed fond memories of that encounter with Santa in the forest. What’s more, we laugh until we cry every time my botched up appearance is mentioned.
Still want to have a go at it yourself? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Aurel Stevens
Chief Editor
aurel.stevens@digitecgalaxus.chI'm the master tamer at the flea circus that is the editorial team, a nine-to-five writer and 24/7 dad. Technology, computers and hi-fi make me tick. On top of that, I’m a rain-or-shine cyclist and generally in a good mood.
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