Dear Readers,
San Nicola’s remains may have been brought to Bari, Italy in 1086, but St. Nicholas was not Italian. St. Nicholas was born in Asia Minor, most likely the city of Patara, and he was a Bishop. As an archbishop his conduct was exemplary. He cared.
In the world of the barbarous 4th century, he was a kind of unique light, helping, assisting, giving. During the time when a father was bound to provide a dowry for his daughters, St. Nicholas met a man who could not provide such dowries for his three girls. The only alternative for the daughters was a life of prostitution. Nicholas intervened.
The story goes that he secretly tossed a bag of gold through the poor man’s window on three separate occasions, thus enabling the daughters to be married. It’s easy to see how such generosity expanded into a story of legendary proportions. Selfless gift-giving is what it’s all about. As the story crossed borders, a slight twist of the tongue and Nicholas became Klaus, later Claus, in Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany.
In some ways he became an important saint for parents who, throughout the year, invoked the bewhiskered visitor to achieve some discipline. If you wanted something from Klaus then you’d have to be good. Something would be left in your wooden shoes. After Santa Claus crossed the Atlantic, his robes, miter, large hat, and staff were gone. Enter a jolly fellow with a broad rimmed hat, huge breeches, and a pipe.
The sleigh had not entered the picture as yet. This gift-giver rode a wagon. He even rode over the tree-tops with no reindeer and no big bag of toys. He held his presents in his pockets and as he moved over the houses he dropped them down the chimneys. To Clement Moore we owe our contemporary definitive picture of Santa Claus.
Those magical words, “’T’was the Night Before Christmas” and following lines of a poem, established the identity and look of Santa Claus for all time. He has his magnificent sleigh, “eight tiny reindeer” all named long before the intrusion of Gene Autry’s red-nosed Rudolph, and big black boots.
His Dutch costume was shortened and trimmed with fur. A drawing by Thomas Nast made the first portrait of Santa Claus, and in 1866, Santa was shown for the first time in a prestigious publication, Harper’s Weekly, in his workshop making toys with the help of little people. The drawing showed the pack of toys, the reindeer, even the stockings hung by the fireplace and the Christmas tree. Santa Claus had arrived!
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A Politically Correct Santa (Author Unknown) ‘T’was the night before Christmas and Santa’s a wreck… How to live in a world that’s politically correct? His workers no longer would answer to “Elves”, “Vertically Challenged” they were calling themselves. And labor conditions at the North Pole Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul. Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety, Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
The runners had been removed from his sleigh; The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A. And people had started to call for the cops When they heard sled noises on their roof-tops. Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened. His fur trimmed red suit was called “Unenlightened.”
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife, Who suddenly said she’d enough of this life, Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz, Demanding from now on her title was Ms. And as for the gifts, why, he’d ne’er had a notion That making a choice would cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur, Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her. Nothing that might be construed to pollute. Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot. Nothing that clamored or made a lot of noise. Nothing for just girls. Or just for boys. Nothing that claimed to be gender specific. Nothing that’s warlike or non-pacific.
So, Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed; He just could not figure out what to do next. He tried to be merry, tried to be gay, But you’ve got to be careful with that word today. His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground; Nothing fully acceptable was to be found. Something special was needed, a gift that he might Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision, Each group of people, every religion; Every ethnicity, every hue, Everyone, everywhere…even you. So here is that gift, its price beyond worth… “May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on this earth.” Buon Natale!
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