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!
