That’s A Good Question, with Tom O’Connor
Why do we tell little kids untrue stories?
In the far off times of my childhood, Santa was one of many mythical characters who brought innocent wonder and delight to the lives of little, and not so little, children.
Today, many of those wonderful characters have been shouldered aside by grotesque half-human halfmechanical monsters of modern television. Many of those traditional heroes of yesteryear have been forced into slavery by the big corporations which put profits ahead of fairy princesses.
Even the Grinch who reportedly stole Christmas was innocent. Coca-Cola did that . . . the scoundrels.
In those days, just after World War 2, there was little money to spend on Christmas gifts. Parents spent hours secretly making gifts at home, just one for each of us, to be wrapped in coloured paper and placed at the foot of our beds in the dead of night.
Our presents were not to be opened until dawn. For us that meant about 5am, before the sparrows had yawned. Another very important rule was that Santa Claus was never to be seen by children. Staying awake to get a glimpse of this almost magical person would mean he would not call at our house.
He came on a sledge pulled by reindeer and he wore a heavy leather coat to keep out the cold of other countries he visited.
During my first year at school I had the beginnings of doubt about the bona fides of Santa, but still dreaded the thought of getting the lump of coal, the traditional gift for bad kids.
At the end of that year we were taken to see a Christmas parade, my first. There were all sorts of floats on the backs of farm trucks led by the Salvation Army band. Bringing up the rear was a horse-drawn dray with Santa throwing wrapped toffees to the crowd. I was horrified. We were not supposed to ever see him but there he was, all dressed in a woman’s bright red dressing gown, a little red cap and red trousers tucked into gum boots. Then I recognised the big horse with a white blaze down her face who pulled a milk cart through the village several times a week. Santa also looked suspiciously like the local dairy farmer.
My persistent questions, when we finally got home, confirmed my nagging suspicions at last; Santa was just a story for little kids and I wasn’t little any more.
The red suit idea, my parents said, had come from Coca-Cola in their advertising but I much preferred the heavy leather coat version which we never saw. I still blame Coca-Cola for stealing some of the magic from my Christmas and I have yet to forgive them.
We owe it to innocent children to keep the magic of Christmas alive and as free of commercialism as we can.
- * That’s a Good Question is brought to you by Tom O’Connor, a retired journalist, commentator and constant asker of good questions.
