Although I haven’t been inside an actual mall in years now I still remember just what it was like around Christmas. I recall waiting in long lines to see Santa, Christmas music barely audible over the din of talking people, the echoes off the large hallways and expansive storefronts, glitter, cotton, fake snow, and plastic decorations everywhere. Maybe there were ornate card stock snow flakes dangling from the ceiling and certainly there were lights and Christmas trees. What I remember most is that, to me, everything seemed tinged by an intangible warmth- a holiday glow as it were. I remember, too, waiting with solemn determination to state my carefully refined selections for presents. It was the time of year when my heart’s desires might appear beneath a tree if I made them known.
Of course, I was aware of where the gifts came from. I hadn't been under the false impression that my gifts were delivered by a large old man in a red suit save for a few years when I was particularly young. Although, coincidentally, several of my gifts were indeed delivered each year by an older man with a white beard and red clothes. That is to say, my grandfather in a red flannel. Yet for some reason, until sometime in my middle school years, I still went to see Santa at the mall with my sisters. Somehow that stranger in a red suit still seemed connected to the gifts I received. As if stating my wishes somehow made them more real than writing them on a Christmas list.
As a kid I gaped at adults when they told me that presents didn’t really matter to them. I was shocked that they could lie so plainly. Had they lied to themselves so convincingly that they now believed it? Presents were a huge part of the Christmas experience. What was Christmas without presents? Without something to unwrap? Surely something terrible had happened to them. I didn’t understand.
By 22 though I began to have some doubts. Still, even if I didn’t look forward to Christmas with quite the same excitement I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t excited. My gift preferences had just changed and there was less suspense. Also on some levels I didn’t always trust people to get me the right gifts for some of my more advanced interests, which limited my list somewhat.
Jumping forward to the present I am suddenly aware that I have been tainted. My younger self would be horrified to see me now. I spent months dragging my feet to put together a Christmas list, even under constant reminders from family who wanted to get their shopping done early. I literally spent several evenings staring at a blank document while I tried to figure out what I could reasonably ask for. I couldn’t think of any presents I that I really wanted.
Of course that’s actually a lie. My younger self was right about that much. I do still want presents, it’s just that the presents I want now won’t fit under a tree. If I was standing in line at the mall, amidst the color and the noise, I would also know just what I was going to ask for. As I approached the front the mall Santa would look around expectantly for my kid, only to realize with a dawning expression of confusion that I was unaccompanied. I would walk forward and the Santa would look at his elf helper, who would look at me and then back to Santa before putting up his hands and backing away slowly.
Sitting on Santa’s lap I would look at him and tell him, from one uncomfortable bearded man to another sweatier uncomfortable bearded man, that I had a few things I wanted for Christmas. “I would like a career that pays ‘enough’. I want to have no more debt. I would like time enough to pursue my creative and academic interests. I want to do what I love for work. And to stop having to rely on help just to get by. And a college education. And to be able to help my friends and family pursue their own dreams. And...”
Maybe Santa would smile a small smile and nod knowingly. Maybe mall security would gesture toward their radio, silently suggesting I move along. I don’t plan on visiting a mall Santa any time soon though so perhaps I’ll never know.
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