On Becoming Santa
While other people choose athletes, rock stars, or other famous people as their heroes. I choose Santa.
Hello, my name is Stephen Wentworth Henneberry.
I am 55 years old, and I believe in Santa Claus.
This post will include the following:
My Grandfather: Santa Claus
Donning The Suit
The Takeaway
My Grandfather: Santa Claus
When people ask why I volunteer as Santa, I always tell them, “My grandfather was Santa Claus.” I relish the awkward pause that follows as if I just told them Napolean was my godfather or the Easter Bunny, my cousin. Then I explain that my first memory of my grandfather is of him being Santa Claus. He continued to be Santa for nearly three decades and was the official Santa Claus for my hometown for twenty years.
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus."
~Francis Pharcellus Church (1897.09.17)
My grandfather, Francis W. Wentworth, first donned the suit in 1968. This was the year my younger brother and I celebrated our first Christmas together. I was born a few days after Christmas 1967, and my brother was born in early November of 1968, so we are less than 11 months apart. That makes us Irish Twins, or so I am told.
So it was that every Christmas, we had a real Santa come to our home to give us our gifts. At first, this was normal to us. This was what Christmas was like in our house, and we assumed it was the same in all homes. Only once we entered elementary school did we learn we were getting the deluxe Christmas package. When Santa visited our classroom, I told my friends I knew him and that he visited my house every year.
“Give ‘til it hurts, and then give some more.” ~ Francis W. Wentworth
Donning The Suit
Fast forward three decades. I am living in West Nowhere, Japan, and I am a professor at the local university. I have a wife and two children, and thanks to my father’s genes, my hair has gone from salt-n-pepper to mostly salt. And, perhaps thanks to my grandfather’s genes, my waistline had significantly increased. This is where a bit of cultural difference provided the catalyst for me to embrace my inner Santa. Japanese people do not seem to be shy about mentioning one’s weight gain. They say it with a chuckle as if one would be happy to share their joy regarding the observation. (I assume they are trying to imply your wife must be a great cook, which is why you overeat. As my wife is a great cook, I try to take this as a compliment.)
At the time, I had been maintaining a goatee for a few years, as that was the last area of my beard to have color. However, once the goat started becoming more salty, I went all in and embraced the full white beard. As my father passed on the gorilla genes to me, growing a beard has never been a problem. As if by magic, suddenly, people were no longer commenting on my weight; they were curious about my beard1. Of course, this meant I continued to gain weight, but that was no longer the hot topic.
Around the same time, seeing my full white beard in the mirror each day brought back memories of my grandfather. While he always relied on a fake beard, thanks to him, rather than feeling old due to losing all the color in my beard, I felt joy in seeing Santa in the mirror each morning.
This is when I realized it was my turn to be Santa. The Santas here tend to be rather depressing, as they are often older men who weigh less than your standard airline luggage allowance, in cheap felt costumes and bad fake beards. As in felt beards. Cringe.
I ordered a Santa suit from Amazon (USA) and had it shipped to Japan. I tried it on as soon as it arrived, took photos, and sent them to my mother. She called me in tears, as she was so happy to see that I was picking up where my grandfather left off. As luck would have it, she was interviewed a few days later by the local newspaper for a human-interest story about my grandfather’s tenure as Exeter’s Santa, and she shared my plan to don the suit.
Once I confirmed the suit fit, my wife called around to find places for Santa to go. I told her to find any orphanages, kindergartens, elementary schools, and hospitals that wanted a free visit from Santa. We contacted friends with kids and asked if they were interested in a visit from Santa. We had a busy calendar for Santa visits that year, considering the idea only struck me in mid-November.
We now have an expanding group of places we visit each year. There is one orphanage, an old folk’s home or two, a home for the mentally impaired, and numerous kindergartens. We have yet to crack the hospital nut, but we are working on it.
I love visiting the children, and we always end the visit with about ten minutes of questions and answers. I love to watch my wife squirm as I spin long, complex replies to their simple questions, as she knows my Japanese is far from fluent. However, she always laughs when she sees where I arrive with the response, so it is great fun. What kind of questions do they ask?
What is your favorite food?
What is your favorite color?
Are you real? (This always gets a “Ho, ho, ho… Of course, I am real. Are YOU real? Ho, ho, ho…”)
Why do you wear red? (This one had my wife squirming… lol)
How old are you?
Their questions are not always incredibly imaginative, but I try to surprise them with my answers. Santa’s favorite color is not red, which confused them until I spun a funny story to explain why. I toss in other ‘Dad joke’ type replies, but you will not get them unless you speak Japanese. Sorry. (If you are curious, ask your questions in the comments, and I will share my replies.)
The Takeaway
If you made it this far, I thank you for the gift of your time. Time is valuable; it may be our greatest asset, so I thank you for sharing yours with me.
My Takeaway questions to reflect on or to reply to in the comments if you like.
Do you believe in Santa? (I will write on this later, but I am curious about how others feel.)
Do you remember when the meaning of Santa flipped for you? The e tipping point when you changed from thinking of Santa as the external “giver of gifts” and realized that Santa had become part of your identity. That you had taken on the role, even if in only a tiny way, of being Santa for someone else?
Obviously, Santa does not work 365 days a year. Besides sipping tea, mucking reindeer stalls, and managing the North Pole, what do you think Santa does on his days off?
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Of course, now I can’t shave my beard until I lose another 25 pounds, or it will just be back to the weight comments…
This is SO lovely and what a wonderful legacy to carry on from your grandfather.
I do believe in Santa. And when I say that, I mean your kind of Santa. I actually wrote a short story that expresses these feelings much better than I can do in a comment, so I’ll be sharing it since I think you’d like it.
https://open.substack.com/pub/practicespace/p/no-25-santas-last-job?r=1tks3b&utm_medium=ios