Down The Chimney

The first year of the new millennia is slowly drawing to a close, and in cold and snowy Helsinki, five-year-old Sofia and nine-year-old Hugo eagerly await the arrival of Christmas and along with it their gifts. Delivered by the proverbial Santa Claus. Or are they? Nothing is ever crystal clear and obvious in our multicultural English-Spanish-Finnish family. And especially not traditions. I ponder with Sofia and Hugo’s Finnish Papa, ‘Finnman’, how we are to 'deliver' this Christmas tradition. Our family background encompasses three distinct cultures with three different bearers of gifts, and we are rather perplexed as to which of the customs we should settle on. We ponder this matter at length and examine each tradition in detail and from many angles.

Does Santa Claus make his appearance Finnish style, through the door laden with gifts presenting himself to a captivated audience of children on Christmas Eve after they have eaten their festive meal? or does he deliver the gifts English style, surreptitiously makes his way down the chimmney on the night before Christmas as the children sleep without making his presence known? or do we make both Santas redundant and have the gifts delivered in Spanish style by three mates, better known as The Three Wise Men, twelve days later? Another option would be to combine all three into one mega back-to-back gift giving bonanza. This last scenario is dismissed almost as immediately as it presents itself, as impractical, unreasonable and simply unaffordable.

Finnmann tells me that he cannot for the life of him understand why an English Santa would choose to enter a home down the chimmney when he can see that there is a front door perfectly suitable for this purpose. The Finnish Santa has clearly figured out that there is a more practical way of delivering gifts without ending up covered with soot. I understand his point of view but the problem with the Finnish Santa is that, when the big man finally arrives boldly making his way in through the front door, the Finnish Papa can never be found and the children always have to tell him the wondrous sight that he missed on yet another Christmas Eve. The English children on the other hand, are entitled to feel smug with their own lot because their Santa delivers the packages during the night when all are sleeping, and as soon as they wake up the next morning, they can dive right in and begin the joyful task of unwrapping. No need to wait for a Christmas meal to be consumed and no need to search for a missing Papa. As for the Spanish children, their gifts are delivered twelve days after the whole party is over and the Finnish and English children have already long ago ripped open theirs. As I have often seen with myself and many of my fellow Spaniards; late for everything and that includes Christmas!

After much pondering and head-scratching we decide to be radical and settle on none of the above options. We choose not to favour any tradition in particular and instead tell Hugo and Sofia that all these mystical bearers of gifts are actually characters within wonderful stories, but that in reality the presents are from people that love them very much and who want to remember them on this special day. They are very happy with this explanation. As long as they get their presents, they do not care who they are delivered by. Unfortunately, I forget to add that they have explosive information on their hands and to exercise the utmost caution in its diffusion.

Its already mid-December and after work I go to the child-minder to pick up Sofia, her brother Hugo is already in school. Petra is a truly wonderful woman and we all adore her, 'spare Mummy' as Sofia calls her. According to Sofia, she is the wisest woman in the entire universe; 'Petra is sooo clever, Mummy', she breathlessly tells me one day as I collect her from day care, 'she knows everything. She even knows when it's the weekend!' On this particular day, Petra takes me aside for a private conversation. She has a worried look on her face. 'We have a problem', Petra tells me in a very serious tone.' Sofia is telling the other children in the group that Santa Claus doesn't exist and that the gifts are from actual people.' I listen to her in earnest. 'It's utter pandemonium at playtime. I have alternately arguing and weeping children on my hands, and we're all meant to be getting into the Christmas spirit. She has to stop this!' Later that evening I talk with Sofia about this most delicate matter. She says she cannot tell a lie once she knows the truth. Why do I have such a principled five-year-old? In the end, we reach an acceptable settlement: when the other children in the group are excitedly talking about Santa Claus, Sofia promises not to expose her earth-shattering revelation. In return, a knowing smile and subtle nodding of heads is exchanged between her and Petra as if to say 'the secret is just between us.’ The children are happy, the child-minder is happy, and my daughter is happy.

Wise nine-year-old Hugo puts all this uproar into perspective. 'Mummy, how come parents tell their children they must never lie, but they then lie to their children about Santa Claus?'  I tell him he has a good point. Across cultures, why do adults justify dishonesty in the name of maintaining traditions?  I give this matter some though and slowly begin to understand that there may indeed be many valuable reasons for gifts to be delivered across cultures by bearded men walking in through doors, sliding down chimmneys or arriving late with friends in tow. All appear as if from nowhere, distributing to their captivated audiences treasures laden with fantasy and imagination, before finally stealing back into the night from whence they came. Without fantasy, there is no imagination, and without imagination, no passion to capture the soul. Without passion, life is reduced to a bleak two-dimensional existence. The elements of make-believe surrounding Santa Claus and The Three Wise Men indeed serve their own purpose in this circle of life. What better gift can there be for a child, than a mind filled with imagination that knows no limits, and fantasy that knows no boundaries? And as for the child-minder Petra, our daughter obviously left a lasting impression on her, because her first grandchild bears her name: Sofia

                       

To be continued...

Next post  10th February:  The Notebook





Note: All written content is the intellectual property of this Author. Image material is drawn largely from Pixabay with some small additions from private family archives.