Writing -- Baby Talk: Surrogate Santas

The following article featured in a weekly column on parenting in the Women on Wednesday supplement of The Evening Echo, one of Ireland's leading regional daily newspapers. It appeared in the 29 December 2004 issue.

When Santa landed his job all those years ago he must have thought he was on to a real winner. Working just one night a year has to be the ultimate cushy number, right? But then traipsing around on icy rooftops in the dead of night at his age is no joke, and there are millions of little boys and girls depending on him to deliver their little piece of Christmas magic.

Talk about pressure!

It's no wonder the big man drafts in an army of stand-ins to do the personal appearance stuff in the run up to Christmas. The trouble is that these surrogate Santas come in all shapes and sizes, and the twins have sharp eyes and equally sharp little minds.

I figured that we could avoid the awkward questions by only taking them to see Santa once this year. It was a good plan, but like so many others it fell by the wayside. The girls eventually went to see the man in red three times… and each time he looked a bit different.

'Santa A' took one look at them and beamed. "I can see that you've been very good girls this year," he said, and I immediately wondered whether his glasses were strong enough. The girls wouldn't say a word to him and refused to go anywhere near him, so the whole event was a bit of a flop.

We decided to try again: different place, different Santa and the girls were much more into the whole experience this time around. They were full of chat when they met 'Santa B' and explained exactly what they wanted for Christmas, and informed him that he mustn't drink all of the whiskey because Daddy wanted some of it.

At first I thought we'd gotten away with the not-so-subtle differences between the two Santas, but my delusion didn't last long.

"Dad, this Santa had a different coloured beard," one of the twins said soon after we got home.

"Maybe the light was just different," I ventured hopefully.

"No Dad, this Santa had a grey beard… the one we seed before had a white beard."

"Yes, Dad, he did," her twin sister backed her up before going on to list other discrepancies. I was in trouble.

I learnt a long time ago that arguing with the women in this family - even the pint-sized ones - is a futile exercise, so I trotted out the faithful old explanation about how Santa can't be in a million different places at once and that he has to get his helpers to stand in for him sometimes. I hoped for the best.

They thought long and hard before eventually accepting it and running off to play. I breathed a sigh of relief.

'Santa C' came to visit them on their final day of playschool and I got ready for another round of questions. All of the kids had just done a show for the parents and they were on a high after their performance. When Santa arrived on a horse and trap the girls were so excited that they didn't seem to notice that he was different in almost every way from the two who'd gone before. They were caught up in the moment and then Santa was back on the trap and was gone.

By the time you read this column all of the Christmas hubbub will have passed, and we'll be on the threshold of a new year. The Santa discrepancies will be forgotten, but the girls will find something else to question. I just hope I can keep coming up with answers….