Jonathan Saves Christmas...again

One of my best friends in Sweden is Jonathan. Jonathan never is bothered by my lack of being able to speak Swedish. He has always made sure I am fully included in all the functions that we both partake in. Jonathan is six years old and the function that he makes magical for me is Christmas.

The first Christmas that we spent together; I was still a bit of stranger to him. He was only four years old at that time and Christmas was a very special occasion for him. In Sweden, on Christmas Eve, the kids have been gathering around the TV set to watch the Disney's Kalle Anka cartoon holiday special. The show is an hour of snippets from famous Disney characters in Christmas scenarios. The kids in Sweden have been watching this show for some fifty years. Jonathan sat on my lap as we watched the show for the first time together. When the show was over, Jonathan slid down off my lap, took my hand and gave it a tug and said, “Kom, Geno!” and led me to the living room where the Christmas tree and presents were set up. Sitting me down in a chair, he brought me a dish of Christmas candy and we sat together staring at the lights on the tree and each telling stories of Christmas in our native language. It seems that Jonathan and I can communicate without understanding a word we say to each other.

Part of the tradition of Jonathan’s family is the arrival of the Swedish Santa Claus, Tomten. After the Disney special, the family and friends gather for the Julbord, the Christmas buffet. After a few bites of the meatballs and salads, Jonathan gets up and begins to pace the house. He peeks out of the front and back windows of the house, looking up and out for any suggestion of Tomten’s arrival. Every few minutes he comes to his father and asks if it is time yet, the anticipation building in the young boy’s mind. Time is relative according to Einstein with bodies moving at different speeds having different references to the universe, something like that. Observing a six-year-old boy agonizing over how slow time advances while waiting for Santa while to you and I spend a few minutes passing in conversation.

Finally, after receiving a phone call, Papa Ralph says loudly that he has heard a noise, or has spotted someone outside. An explosion of activity meets the alarm, as the younger kids scramble to look out the window, get a good seat in front of the tree or answer the door. This year, in this pandemonium of activity, Jonathan actually did a 360 turn in the middle of the kitchen trying to decide to go to the window or go to the door. I thought to myself, when the last time that Christmas was that thrilling to me?

Especially this year, I tried desperately to make the complete transition to Ebenezer Scrooge. I never have been able to consolidate my desire to show my appreciation and repay the kindness that has been shown me with my budget. So I resort to what I always do. I take care of the mandatory presents to mother and my (current) special one. When the kids were young, I always made sure that they enjoyed Christmas. But the truth be told, I never enjoyed the process. And now, because I live in Sweden, the built in excuse of having to shop in November to make the early December shipping date to the United States. Plus the cost of shipping across the Atlantic can be more than the cost of the gift itself. Christmas? Bah, Humbug!

However, there is nothing like the wide-eyed wonder reflected in the eyes of young child at Christmas time. Watching Jonathan’s face light up at the arrival of Tomten. Watching him closely scan the face behind the false whiskers, the young brain wanted to cling to the fable while the logical side tried to figure out exactly who the stand-in Claus was. Just like it seems that my old conscience full of memories of Christmases past fights with the present feelings of distance from family and friends back in the States.

Yet, somehow, the spirit of Christmas always comes through. It mutates through the years. It has gone from the wonderful imagination of a childhood’s Santa in the North Pole to the young adults party with friends. From then it replenishes itself as the parent introduces the child to the family’s traditions and the cycle begins all over again. No matter how crass the commercialism becomes, the spirit that is a six-year-old child doing spins in the kitchen at the arrival of his Santa Claus is what keeps Christmas alive.