New Santa Claus coming to town
Outside of a movie, it may have been the first time I saw someone actually stroke their chin while hatching a scheme. It would be a few more minutes before I realized my son was trying to encourage a beard along with his plot.
We were driving along Interstate 84 on Nov. 10 when Andy Williams started warbling “Happy Holidays” on the SiriusXM station The Kid had just found. Apparently, when you’re 8, the countdown to Christmas starts at 45 days.
The chin stroking continued as he gazed into the night skies. I asked what he was thinking about.
The Kid: To be Santa Claus for Christmas.
Me: You want to be Santa Claus for Christmas?
The Kid: Yes, I was thinking about how to turn a plane into a sleigh. I’m going to take the roof off and paint it red.
Me: How big is this plane?
The Kid: It will be about a quarter to six inches.
Me: I don’t know if that’s a time or a measurement. So it’s a big red plane. How many people are going to be on it?
The Kid: There’s only room for one person.
Me: That’s you.
The Kid: Yup. Take the seats out and there’s room for presents.
Me (with an “I’ve got you now” thought bubble over my head): Who’s flying the plane when you have to get out?
The Kid: It’s on auto pilot and have a nice day.
Me: Where are you going to start?
He has a list in his head, and apparently checked it twice. Friends and moms — no dads — in Connecticut and New York will get gifts first. Then he’s off to Florida to see friends before returning to Texas, where he was born.
Me: Who in Texas gets a present?
The Kid: All the people.
Me: Everyone in Texas gets a present?
The Kid: Yeah, why wouldn’t they?
Me: Well, maybe they were on your naughty list. I don’t know what kind of Santa Claus you are. What’s your ethos?
The Kid: Umm.
Me: Your code.
The Kid: My code is a secret handprint ... where you put it on the thing ... then there’s a voice you need to use to get on to it.
Those ellipses are pauses. I suspect he’s making this whole Santa thing up as he goes along. But then, so did the last guy. C’mon — elves? Reindeer? Chimneys? Rappelling down the Landmark building?
Our soundtrack changes to Boots Randolph. I ask the No. 1 journalism question.
Me: Who has been naughty? The Kid: Walter Hobbs.
Me (I slowly recalled the character from the movie “Elf ”): Ahh, Walter Hobbs, aka James Caan, aka, Sonny Corleone.
He stared at me.
Me: Never mind. Who else? He named a classmate.
Me: What did he do?
The Kid: He swore at Santa Claus.
Me: Oh, is that because you are Santa Claus?
The Kid: Yeah, that’s not respectful.
I fear that perhaps he did recognize the name Sonny Corleone. We discuss a few more details and he puts a finger on his lips like he wants to think without jeopardizing beard growth.
The Kid: I’m thinking about how I would make a sleigh. Get a couple of dogs and make them into reindeer.
Me: You’re going to turn our puppy into a reindeer? What am I doing during all this?
The Kid: Making the presents. Me: Uh, huh ... Wait, I’m an elf ? What about Mom?
The Kid: She’s an elf too.
Me: What’s the last country you’re going to?
The Kid: Only the U.S. Santa is going to do the rest.
Me: You only do domestic flights?.
The Kid: Yeah, domestic flights only.
We drove on as he harmonized with Tony Bennett on “Snowfall.”
For the last five weeks he’s been researching his new part like Daniel DayLewis:
1 He bribed Santa in Bethel with a cup of joe before asking “How do you get to the North Pole? Is it past heaven?”
1 After the Stamford balloon parade, he stumped Santa with his gift request.
“I don’t know where to get that,” Santa replied.
“Oh, go to Amazon, they have everything.”
1 He cracked the codes on Mom’s phone and ordered a sleigh on, yes, Amazon. Then he griped to Santa at the New Canaan holiday stroll that the one that arrived was made of cardboard.
1 During a historic house tour at the Newtown Holiday Festival, he revealed his secret identity to the public at large.
“I know from the color of my skin that I don’t look like Santa Claus,” he bellowed, tapping his caramel hand, “BUT I AM.”
1 He mistook the Beach Boys’ 1963 chestnut “Little Saint Nick” for a new song, and exclaimed “It’s about me.”
1 On Thursday night he texted me a rehearsal video in full scarlet gear. I found myself mentally noting how he could shave time off his gifttocookietosleigh transitions.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the rules. Remember, if an 8yearold St. Nick arrives Christmas Eve, swearing will cost you.