Santa Claus

Red-suited men sporting long white beards are everywhere:

 in stores,

 on TV,

at parties.

There is no one who doesnt recognize these fellows.






As a youngster, I was afraid of him.  As I got older, I figured him out, but kept the information to myself.  Later, when I had my own children, we gave them gifts from Santa Claus on Christmas morning, but never took them to visit him or sit in his lap.

Now I continue to believe in the gift of giving .

So, I embrace the symbol and prefer to be positive about *him*.

Any one who says *there's no such thing as Santa Claus* looses credibility.

Clearly, he exists.

One of my favorite poets explains ~

Nicholas, Bishop of Myra's See,

Was holy a saint

As a saint could be;

Saved not a bit

Of his worldly wealth

And loved to commit

Good deeds by stealth.

Was there a poor man,

Wanting a roof?

Nicholas sheltered him weatherproof.

Who lacked a morsel

Had but to ask it

And at his doorsill

Was Nicholas' basket.

0, many a basket did he carry.

Penniless girls

Whom none would marry

Used to discover to their delight,

Into their windows

Tossed at night

(When the moon was old

And the dark was showry),

Bags of gold

Enough for a dowry.

People, I read,

Grew slightly lyrical,

Calling each deed

He did, a miracle.

Told how he calmed the sea for sailors

And rescued children

From awful jailors

Who, drawing lots

For the foul design,

Liked pickling tots

In pickle brine.

Nicholas, circa

Fourth cent. A.D.,

Died in the odor of sanctity.

But fortune changes,

Blessings pass,

And look what's happened to Nicholas.

He who had feared

The world's applause,

Now, with a beard,

Is Santa Claus.

A multiplied elf, he struts and poses,

Ringing up sales

In putty noses;

With Comet and Cupid

His constant partners,

Telling tall tales to kindergart'ners,

His halo fickle as

Wind and wave.

While dizzily Nicholas

Spins in his grave.

"Origin of Species"
 from TIMES THREE
 by Phyllis McGinley