Santa and Sam. A Seasonal Suprise...
You have to be careful who's Santa these days, and with forty odd years working with kids behind me, former Special Needs Teacher and Lecturer, long-serving Youth Leader, one-time School Governor and City Councillor, I get a fair number of seasonal invitations to don the old false beard. Not that I really need it, since my own beard's as white as the proverbial snow these days!
Anyway, there I was at the ‘Children’s Ward’ party in one particular Hospital grotto, with Mother Christmas, who's really a Midwife, and a clutch of sundry elves. All going well, not too many tears, and the piles of chocolate selection boxes, all tastefully wrapped in 'Bob the Builder' paper, steadily diminishing.
Then in came Sam.
I knew he was six, well it's the front teeth isn't it? He didn't have any. We exchanged pleasantries, and I asked who was standing with him.
'That's Nanna,' he told me.
'Has Nanna been good?' I asked.
'Yes,' said Sam,' We live with Nanna and Bampa now. She's my best.'
Nanna beamed.
'He's lovely little boy, Santa,' she said.
'Bampa's been really good too,' Sam chipped in.
I reached into my authentic Santa sack, an old Post Office mailbag, and produced a Kojak lollipop.
'Nanna can have a lolly then, Sam. Now have you written to Santa yet?'
'Yes, I wrote in school,' he told me.
'Good lad, I expect the elves have got it in their pile of letters.' I turned to Mother Christmas who nodded sagely.
'What would you like to have for Christmas, Sam?' I asked him.
'A Gameboy, Playstation 2, or some CD's?' I suggested re-iterating this year’s clear winners in the Boy's Under Ten category.
'No! Santa!' Exclaimed little Sam. 'I'm going to have a tarantula!'
Behind him, Nanna grimaced and shook her head vigorously.
I got the message.
Loud and clear.
Here before me was a seriously arachnaphobic lady.
Nanna, though she might be Sam's 'best' was not going to let Sam have his choice of eight-legged Christmas present this year or any other.
Thinking quickly I came up with an escape route, and believe me, as Santa it's absolutely essential to have an escape route. Plan B for when someone living in a block of flats asks for a pony, you know, that sort of thing.
'Hm. Well Sam, Tarantula's a very, very big word. Sometimes the poor old elves can't read the spelling, and so they don't deliver exactly the present you ask for.'
Nanna seemed impressed.
‘No, Santa, no. We wrote the letters in class, and Mrs Evans helped me write the word properly.’
I glanced at Nanna. It looked like that particular teacher’s seasonal Milk Tray gift box wouldn’t be delivered this year.
' Santa!' Said the boy emphatically, 'I'm having a tarantula. Bampa's bought it already. When he went to Cardiff. From the special pet shop. He's put it in a secret place in the house, but I know where it is.'
It would be unfair of me to try to explain in mere words the magnitude of the expression of horror which slowly spread over the woman's face. I could sense her entire body shudder with anguish. She gripped Sam's shoulders, her knuckles whitening.
Here was a woman, perhaps fifty five years old, terrified of the thing in the bath, a lifelong arachnaphobe, and somewhere at home, sharing her house was a gigantic South American spider, a creature she hadn't known was there. Bampa's betrayal of her sensitivities would cost him dear, and I wondered if the pet shop had arranged sale of the beast on a 'complete refund if not satisfied, or your mother won't let you keep it' basis?
Probably not.
I handed Sam his 'Bob the Builder' package, and waved them both goodbye.
'See you on Christmas Eve Santa!' Sam called back.
'Not me Sam,' I whispered to Mother Christmas. 'I can't stand them either'.
