As we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, surrounded by our loved ones remember to give thanks for friends we have never met. We live in the greatest country on the face of the earth. Hold our freedoms dear and bless those that are less fortunate. Have a very Merry Christmas and God bless us all.
Many of us enjoy Christmastime,
not only because we may find some new tobacco under the tree, but
because the rituals of the season stimulate memories of past yuletides.
Childhood Christmas magic insinuates itself into the present, enveloping
us again in the certainty that miracles do happen. That childhood
certainty may fade with the accumulation of years, but the memory of it
enriches us always.
A powerful symbol of that magic is Santa Claus, a luminous hero in
many childhoods, including my own. I remember being terrified of the
Santa I met in the department store, yet somehow didn't equate that
terror with the Santa who made sure I'd been good all year. I knew the
difference. I was a fan of the real Santa. I even talked my parents into
taking me to Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, eager to see
how he saved the world from that interplanetary menace. My film
experience was minimal, but I recognized that this was a wretched
counterfeit. I'd know the real Santa when I met him.
"Santa Reading Mail" by Norman Rockwell
I don't remember having any opinion about Santa's pipe. It was an
accepted fixture. There were no moral interpretations of pipes back
then; they were pipes. I certainly didn't aspire to emulate Santa by
smoking a pipe. It was iconic, but no more so than his belly or his
beard, which I also didn't aspire to ... wait a minute ... pipe, belly,
and beard ... oh my. Maybe that accounts for those fleeting peripheral
reflections of Santa I've been seeing in windows. I wonder if I've
underestimated the old elf's influence...
My transformation into a seasonal character aside, Santa's pipe was an
integral part of his identity until Canadian author Pamela McColl
republished Clement Moore's "A Visit from St. Nicholas" (1823) and
removed its mention of Santa's pipe. She spent $200,000 to print 55,000
copies and declared to the New York Post, "Santa has stopped smoking, and 2012 is the year he quit, and there's nothing anyone can do about it."
There seems to be some hostility in that statement, perhaps because
McColl knew there would be criticism. Her version removed the lines,
"The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, / And the smoke, it
encircled his head like a wreath." She also removed the pipe and its
smoke from illustrations. She did it for the children, but I'm not
convinced that they care. I've not noticed thousands of school children
smoking pipes or hoarding tobacco because Santa smokes a pipe in a poem.
Nobody objects to this nighttime intruder looting baked goods from the
millions of homes he breaks into, or his maneuvering livestock in and
out of commercial flight paths, but stick a pipe in his mouth and
righteous indignation escalates. Why people prioritize censorship over
honest communication is a mystery. Besides, kids know there's no way to
de-pipe Santa Claus.
Comments
Well said. God bless!
"Pipe Smoking Santa Claus" by Artur Lopes
Many of us enjoy Christmastime, not only because we may find some new tobacco under the tree, but because the rituals of the season stimulate memories of past yuletides. Childhood Christmas magic insinuates itself into the present, enveloping us again in the certainty that miracles do happen. That childhood certainty may fade with the accumulation of years, but the memory of it enriches us always.
A powerful symbol of that magic is Santa Claus, a luminous hero in many childhoods, including my own. I remember being terrified of the Santa I met in the department store, yet somehow didn't equate that terror with the Santa who made sure I'd been good all year. I knew the difference. I was a fan of the real Santa. I even talked my parents into taking me to Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, eager to see how he saved the world from that interplanetary menace. My film experience was minimal, but I recognized that this was a wretched counterfeit. I'd know the real Santa when I met him.
"Santa Reading Mail" by Norman Rockwell
I don't remember having any opinion about Santa's pipe. It was an accepted fixture. There were no moral interpretations of pipes back then; they were pipes. I certainly didn't aspire to emulate Santa by smoking a pipe. It was iconic, but no more so than his belly or his beard, which I also didn't aspire to ... wait a minute ... pipe, belly, and beard ... oh my. Maybe that accounts for those fleeting peripheral reflections of Santa I've been seeing in windows. I wonder if I've underestimated the old elf's influence...
My transformation into a seasonal character aside, Santa's pipe was an integral part of his identity until Canadian author Pamela McColl republished Clement Moore's "A Visit from St. Nicholas" (1823) and removed its mention of Santa's pipe. She spent $200,000 to print 55,000 copies and declared to the New York Post, "Santa has stopped smoking, and 2012 is the year he quit, and there's nothing anyone can do about it."
There seems to be some hostility in that statement, perhaps because McColl knew there would be criticism. Her version removed the lines, "The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, / And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath." She also removed the pipe and its smoke from illustrations. She did it for the children, but I'm not convinced that they care. I've not noticed thousands of school children smoking pipes or hoarding tobacco because Santa smokes a pipe in a poem.
Nobody objects to this nighttime intruder looting baked goods from the millions of homes he breaks into, or his maneuvering livestock in and out of commercial flight paths, but stick a pipe in his mouth and righteous indignation escalates. Why people prioritize censorship over honest communication is a mystery. Besides, kids know there's no way to de-pipe Santa Claus.
Nollaig shona dhaoibh!