What Changes...Stays the Same

  Santa Claus has changed a good bit throughout the years.  Whether you look back on the lore of St. Nicklaus, Kris Kringle or Father Christmas, the story behind the character is all the same.  A kindly old gentleman (who had wealth untold) secretly gave gifts to those deserving.  Later this changed to giving gifts to children.  That part stayed pretty much the same through the centuries but his appearance changed with time.  Depending upon who was describing the jolly old geezer, he was anywhere from tall and thin to short and roly-poly.  His dress went from robes to a nice, red fur trimmed outfit that is most recognizable today.  His mode of travel changed from going on foot, riding a horse or in a sleigh with magical reindeer.  

A picture of Santa Claus that adorns a child's art box from long ago.

  It is not these changes that occurred to me today, however.  It is the changes that have happened in my life. Santa Claus used to be the magical man who slid down our chimney to bring a toy or two.  Later as a new parent, Santa took on a different roll. He (we) was the giver who longed to see the joy in a child's eyes.  As time passed, children grew into adults and Santa became tired.  The excitement had passed and Santa Claus moved on to other neighborhoods.  Christmas just was not the same.  This year, the joy will be seen in grandchildren's eyes.  The jolly old elf will make his rounds again filling the stockings and leaving gifts under our tree. 

   As a child, I believed....truly believed he was real only because of one special neighbor who overnight became the "man in red".  As a small child during lean times, I had been forewarned that Santa Claus may not have made enough toys for every boy and girl and that our toys may be given to less fortunate children.  I went to bed just knowing that somehow Santa would come at least to fill the stockings.  Instead, I awoke to find the jolliest man bearing gifts.  It mattered not that it was our neighbor, Mr. Sidney.  It mattered not that he wore a red flannel shirt and wore a Stetson hat.  It mattered not that the gifts were toted in a sack that once held oats for cattle.  He was Santa that Christmas morning.  I believed...still do.  Things change but somewhere, somehow, someone out there is Santa...even if only for a day.  Those who give without expecting anything in return, those who share no matter how meager their own portion, those who bring happiness even without a gift...those are the folks who are Santa.  That part has not changed.