Santa Claus arrives

The following is an excerpt from my novel Oblivion...

One year Santa Claus decided to arrive at the mall by helicopter, direct from the North Pole. How fantastic was that? My children were pumped. We had to go, though I regretted it as soon as we arrived. The usual Christmas spirit seethed through the oversized crowd of moms, dads and tears. We all cursed, some openly, others under their breath at the late arrivers who still managed to push and jostle to the front of the landing zone. Santa himself was late and to add to the tension, none of us could understand the garbled updates from the megaphone. Seriously, does anyone really think that sound technology works on a windy day? Every once in awhile I could discern the words "Santa Claus" but that was about it. And so parents were left to invent their own stories about why we had to be patient for just a little bit longer. It was a cool fall day but none of us had dressed properly. Our cups of Tim Horton's had long been drained and you didn’t dare leave now.

As a parent, I have never been fully comfortable with Santa Claus. As a child you’re told to believe in Santa and in the importance of believing even in the face of ridicule and then, as you grow older, you find out that none of it is true. Your parents, who insisted you hold to your faith, finally reveal that your belief, your trust in them, was entirely unfounded. It was all a game your parents, indeed the whole adult community played on you. "When did you stop believing?" becomes a euphemism for "When did you finally grow up?" As a parent, why would I want to perpetuate that betrayal. Still I found myself playing along. I was shamed into complying with phrases such as, "Don't ruin it for everyone else." and "It is just for fun." Whose fun?

The steady beat of the helicopter thrashed through the air. The excitement crescendoed. All eyes looked up and saw Santa's sponsor for this year: CTV's coverage of the Santa Claus parade. The noise quickly became incessant. You could feel the rotors slamming against your chest as children began to call out Santa's name with religious fervour. "Santa!" "I see him!" "Santa! Santa!" Parents also pointed up to the red figure waving from the passenger window of the helicopter circling overhead. "There's Santa." as if to prove to their children he really did exist. Then the noise began to cascade as the helicopter descended and washed away our shouts of devotion. It was truly an impressive entrance. Santa had arrived. Our hearts were prepared. Then reality hit in a hail of small stones. The downdraft slammed into the mall parking lot and asphalt marbles began pelting his followers. At first we tried to endure, to witness Santa's actual touchdown but the tiny bullets were relentless and hurt too much. Children were crying. Mothers rushed to protect their babies, all the while Santa laughed, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" His voice made epic thanks to the helicopter's sound broadcast system. I finally had to turn away. My daughter buried her face in my thighs and screamed. My son ducked down beneath his coat and rolled to the ground in an attempt to shield himself. Sarah tried to keep us engaged in the moment with a running commentary. "He is coming this way. Ow! It’s Santa. Ouch. Damn! Why don't they power that thing down?"

Unfortunately, the helicopter was only rented for an hour and with Santa's delay in the air, time was ticking. As soon as the jolly fellow cleared the landing zone, the rotors revved back up to full speed in a disorienting din. By the time we gained our senses back, we had missed the jog by and found ourselves at the end of a chaotic line that was rushing into the mall to have their pictures taken with the stranger in disguise. I admit I was angry. I decided there and then it was time the kids learned the truth! Sarah didn't allow it. And so we waited at the back of the line for another hour so as to have a photo to commemorate the special occasion and to get a couple half sized candy canes. Merry fucking Christmas!