December 25, 2009
I remember a young Michael Jackson, then of The Jackson Five, singing a song that tells the story of how he saw his mother kissing Santa Claus. It made me wonder if Michael was talking about the “real” Santa Claus or his father.
I don’t remember my mother ever telling me Santa Claus did not exist. I do remember her telling me quite emphatically that “she” was the Santa Claus after I expressed some frustration with a gift I had received one year. I wanted an electric football game. It was the kind that vibrated and it had miniature players. Instead, she got me another game that was more like a parlor board game. I was crushed. I think that is when I stopped smiling in pictures. My lack of appreciation did not go unnoticed. It was one of those teachable moments. After I got up off of the floor, I realized that if there was something that I wanted I would have to find a way to earn it. No one was going to give me anything…even Santa Claus if I did not do what I was supposed to do.
Christmas meant more than receiving gifts. There were other things to consider. Things like the real meaning of the season, the spirit of giving, and sharing with those in need come to mind. However, when you are seven or eight years old, you may still have some residue of selfish thinking. As an only son and the oldest child of four, I probably still thought the world should revolve around me. Some would argue that I still think that way today, but that’s another story for another day. When I did not receive the electric football game I requested from Santa Claus and my mother felt obligated to intervene upon my pity party, I realized that my mother was Santa Claus. My reality was not shattered and I suffered no long term psychological damage as a result. Well, at least I don’t think so!
Each year starting in October immediately after Halloween and in anticipation of the coming Christmas season, I would go through the motions of scanning through the sale papers included in the Sunday newspaper. Dreams of all of the new toys and gadgets would fill my head for almost two months. I would make my lists and campaign with my mother about what to tell Santa Claus. Then, at that time, after what would seem like an eternity, Christmas Eve would arrive and I would spend the night in a restless sleep thinking about the new toys I would have the next morning compliments of Santa Claus err, my mother.
If Santa Claus was really someone other than my mother, I never considered the possibility that Santa Claus could be Black.
All of the pictures I saw of Santa Claus showed this portly, white-haired fellow who had rosy red cheeks, a red suit, black boots and a big black belt. He could be in more than one place at the same time. He REALLY liked children and his only mode of transportation was a sleigh pulled by reindeer, including one with a red nose. He always seemed to be smiling and he never showed signs of fatigue after delivering presents all over the world. Could I have actually believed that?
I did not consider the notion that if Santa Claus was Black, I would probably get everything I wanted on my list. Some of you will know to what it is I am referring. It’s called “the hookup”. “The hookup” might be loosely classified as the unspoken courtesy that is expected when one is of the same race, culture, or ethnicity. If I am in a position of power or influence and I see someone across the desk or table who looks like me, then it is expected that I should give him or her special consideration. This happens all of the time in today’s world. Sometimes it can be directly attributed to race. Sometimes it is not. It is difficult to prove. Consider this thinking as it relates to Santa Claus.
If Santa Claus looks like me, shouldn’t I get some special consideration for the gifts I request?
There is another side to the story.
I did not consider that since all of the depictions of Santa Claus I saw were White that I would probably NOT get everything I wanted on my list. Some of you will know to what it is I am referring. It is loosely classified as the person who maintains the glass ceiling that keeps people at a certain level, suppresses who they are, and denies equal access to opportunity. Being held down by “The Man” is cited as the reason for lack of progress, shattered dreams, and a lack of hope and optimism that can only be gained if someone who looks like me (i.e., Black) is in the position of power and influence. If this were the case, I would not expect to get anything from Santa Clause. Considering this, the obvious question to raise is:
If Santa Claus does not look like me, should I expect to receive any of the gifts I requested?
The reality was that the ethnicity or sociological category of Santa Claus was not important to me at eight years old. I knew better.
I may have questioned whether or not Santa Claus actually existed, but I did not make the leap of logic at that age to question whether I would get special consideration if he were Black. Santa Claus did not represent a race to me. It was only after I got older and I had people constantly reminding me that there needed to be a difference that the notion of Santa Claus (somewhat akin to the little girl who played with White dolls instead of Black dolls) needed to be Black in my world.
2008 brought something new into my reality, although it was not completely different. I remember 1973 when Detroit elected a Black mayor. I was there. I was 12 years old and I regularly read the newspaper. It was a part of my upbringing. Coleman Young was a pro-labor, pro-union, fiery, old-school Democrat. His opponent was the former police commissioner, White and Republican. There are still some people that will immediately juxtapose White with Republican and Black with Democrat. Thirty six years later has not brought much change in the political climate even though the landscape of society has changed dramatically. I remember the moment was captured as an historic one. Several years prior in 1967, Cleveland, Ohio did the same with its election of Mayor Carl B. Stokes. These events marked many that I can recall from reading or my own experience in my childhood as bearing significance because society placed significance on the person’s ethnicity. I was reminded of the historical significance again and its relationship to ethnicity with the election of President Obama in 2008.
A lot of the hoopla surrounding the election in 2008 centered on the race of President Obama and the prospects for a new party in the White House. I believe the issues were not as significant. Folks were seeking a Black Santa Claus and he would be in the form of the next President of the United States of America.
Is my Santa Claus for 2009 President Barack Obama?
The jury is still out. 2009 was supposed to be the year of hope and change. Jobs would be plentiful because of the government’s stimulus package. The automotive industry would be bailed out similar to what happened with the mortgage industry. Opportunities for higher education and jobs in corporate America would rise because of new initiatives for developing alternative energy sources and contributing to the global economy influenced by going “green”. 2009 was supposed to be the year that government partnered with small business to stimulate jobs, radically reform healthcare insurance, and kick start the economy. Taxes would not increase and a society consumed with race and partisan politics would come together in a new spirit of cooperation and collaboration.
Where is my Santa Claus today? Where are my presents?
I was laid off in May 2009. I am still looking for a job in the stimulated economy. Santa Claus has not been to my house. In fact, I think he sent me a bill from last year! Yikes.
Another Christmas has passed and I find myself thinking about some of the same things I thought about as a child. I have fond memories of those times, even when I did not get exactly what I asked. Life was easier. I did not have to worry about bills – paying my rent, maintaining an auto, and keeping my creditors off my back. All I had to do was my schoolwork and chores. I did not realize I had it so easy. Forty years later I still have the same question about Santa Claus. I know Santa Claus is not real. Further, the Santa Claus I am expecting may not even be Black. But, I do know this. If President Obama is not Santa Claus, I now know why I am unemployed still. I did not receive any gifts for Christmas and I may have to rely upon my mother again to play Santa forty years later. However, this time instead of an electric football game, I’ll be asking for a place to stay. Yikes!
Is Santa Claus Black or White? It really doesn’t matter when you don’t have a chimney!
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“It is calming to know that when the final trumpet sounds,
My life will not have ended in vain.
I will run out of time before I run out of words. God has given me the gift of my thoughts.
He has given me the gift of the pen.
I need to use them both to show His will does win….” 1
(1) Excerpt from the poem “ The Things That Matter” –
Included in Voices Inside My Head – Poetry Inspired By God To Heal Pain
Copyright © 2009 Milton A. Brown