Near miss

Yesterday, my office held its annual Christmas party at a wonderful facility for people and families living with AIDS. It's an amazing place, and I'm proud to say that I'm even remotely involved in something that gives so many people the resources and the hope they need.

In the morning, I heard rumblings in the office in regards to "Who is going to play Santa Claus tonight?" Of course, my first reaction was, "Aw hell no!" Someone who used to work here had done it for years. Last year (my first year with the company), I was out of town when the party happened and one of my boss's friends played Santa. My boss wasn't in yet, so I was hoping that either he or his friend would be willing to step up and do this. I wrote my wife an email saying that I may have to do this, but I'm fighting it all the way. Her reply wasn't exactly filled with the empathy I was expecting: "Make sure you get a picture! Oh, my skinny, Jewish Santa!" Thanks, honey.

I had two problems with this whole thing: It's not that I don't like kids, because I do. I especially like happy kids, which is what they'd be while receiving presents, most likely. Problem number one is that I just don't feel that I have the personality necessary for someone playing Santa Claus. I'm not jolly; in fact, I'm not even very animated. I'm a low key and often monotone guy, especially in situations where I don't know most of the people. I'd be very uncomfortable having to walk in with a big "Ho ho ho" and "Merrrrrrrry Christmas!"

Problem number two is that I didn't want to lie to the kids. I asked my co-worker Rob, "If they ask me if I'm the real Santa, can I tell them that I'm his good friend and standing in for him since this is a busy time of year?" He said no, I had to say that I was the real Santa. Not only that, I'd probably have to ask them what they wanted for Christmas, even though I'd have zero power in making that happen. What if they asked me point blank whether I was bringing them the bike they want? What if they asked me specific details about the letter they mailed me? I was getting less and less willing to step in, because these kids have it hard enough without some fake Santa's empty promises.

(A lesser problem number three is that I didn't want to stay too long at the party since I'd have an hour-long drive home. I had a feeling that Santa doesn't just drop in and out, despite his obviously busy schedule.)

As the day went on, it sounded like it was between me and no one, with me as the odds-on favorite. Then, a few minutes before we were leaving, I casually said to my boss, "Um, there's the Santa suit over there." "Are you going to be wearing that?" he asked. "Only if you tell me I have to," I replied. "No, that's ok," he said, "Mrs. Claus will be there and that'll be enough." Whew!

Naturally, I was very relieved to hear that and drove over to the party with the suit still on a desk at work. When I arrived, I heard a few people asking who was playing Santa. I have to admit that I was a little embarrassed when I saw their disappointment that there wasn't going to be one. But they were grown-ups, as long as the kids didn't cry when they heard the news, I'd be ok with it. Mrs. Claus was there, and she was making the kids happy. I heard her explain to one kid that Santa was at another house right then but she was happy to hand out presents. The kid seemed fine with it, so I'm doing ok right now.

Should I have just sucked it up, ignored how uncomfortable the setting was, lied to the kids, and gone for it? Maybe. It's a very fair argument to say that the happiness of about a dozen kids is more important that one man's comfort level. But my boss said I didn't have to, and I happily obeyed. My question to you, Gentle Readers, is this: On a scale of 1 to 10, how big of an asshole was I yesterday?