The Day I Stopped Believing in Santa Claus

Growing up I only saw pictures of a jolly looking fat man with a pink face, a big white beard and red cheeks, speckles and yes, you guessed it... He was white. Some things are just better depicted as white folks, like Hillbillies and Santa Claus. My biggest concern at the time was not what colour skin he had but how that fat man was going to squeeze through the chimney to give us our presents. The details didn’t even bother me that much as long as I woke up Christmas morning to find a present whether it was under a tree, under my pillow, or I kid you not; by the chimney.

I loved everything about Christmas, from not wanting to sleep on Christmas Eve scared to miss out on a visit from you know who; to the actual day of non-stop fun and excitement.

Days before Christmas in the big city of Durban (in comparison to the windy city of Port Elizabeth) Walking through the waterfront and in absolute awe of all my surroundings always bearing in mind that this was my favourite time of the Year... Christmas. Which also meant, sweets, new clothes, toys, and generally 1 day that seems to last forever and awaited for just as long.

I heard that Santa was around town and all the kids were allowed to sit on his lap and take a picture with him. I couldn’t wait to show my friends in PE a picture of me and Santa that I met the only man who was a mystery to us.

My heart was racing with every step because just a few blocks away...there’s SANTA. I wasn’t sure how I was going to address him... Santa, Mr Claus, Tata (a sign of respect in my culture meaning Father in Xhosa). The last option triggered another thought in my head that this man was Father Christmas.

I took in my last deep breath before I was going to see the Father of Christmas probably the biggest event of the year.

As I turned the corner I bumped into someone as I looked up my eyes opened wide, my mouth even wider, my tongue dry and practically stuck in my throat, no words of apology for bumping into him.

He said sorry (I assume for our collision) but he actually had no idea how sorry I was bumping into this ordinary not so jolly person. This skinny, unhappy looking tall Black guy was dressed in Santa‘s suit. He looked all kinds of wrong.

I wanted to cry for 2 very good reasons: 1 Santa was mugged and now this man was trying to confess that he did it (and I believed him) 2. There really isn’t Santa and practically anyone can dress up as Santa Clause. The latter became more and more apparent to me as I saw many more Santa’s thereafter...of all colours. Well there goes that believe of pink Santa with his big tummy and red and black suit. I guess that all those very cleverly thought out gifts were from my parents after all. It’s no wonder they knew exactly what I wanted year after year.

Ho, Ho, Ho I heard the man say as he greeted other enthusiastic kids who were obviously immuned to this pseudo persona of Santa Claus.