Once upon a time I was called upon to play Santa Claus and in front of my friends and family. It should have been fun. I'm not too sure at the time that it really was. Well I must confess all the folk there had a good time, I just wasn't sure they were laughing with me, rather than at me. I'll share the story here from the book Gaijin! Gaijin! which just a few moments ago was uploaded in Kindle format to Amazon and should become available to anyone interested by tomorrow, Dec. 18, just in time for Christmas for anyone on your list who has or who is getting a Kindle in their stocking. But here is the story......Santa Claus suits were not that readily available. The week before I had been Santa at the foreigner’s fellowship held at the home of Baptist missionary, Pratt Dean. That particular foreigner’s meeting was better attended than most, because the main dish was roast turkey. Turkeys were not common in Japan, at least not in the outback areas.
“This evening we should thank Father Aguilar for his contribution to this dinner,” Pratt had said as he pointed to the two turkeys.
Aguilar had stood and bowed to the group. “Enjoy this feast tonight because it is getting more difficult to get them from the base at Sasebo. It is only by the grace of God that the chaplain there is willing to cooperate with us poor misplaced gaijins in Nagasaki. So tonight you might want to say a prayer for the U.S. Navy also!” he had laughed.
After Pratt’s invocation, everyone had filled their plates with the turkey and side dishes. Even though we might not have eaten turkey more often than once a year if we were in the states, it seemed extra special to have turkey that night.
The program was to be a piano solo by the music teacher who taught at Kwassui. As we began to find places to relax and enjoy the music, Aguilar had taken me by the arm and drawn me into another room. “We have decided that the delegation from Isahaya should be Santa Claus this year,” he said. “Would you mind?”
Everyone had been instructed to bring a gift for the tree–something of less than 500 yen value and marked for a male or female.
“I’m the only one here who has children. Won’t they be suspicious? I think they still believe in Santa Claus!” I had argued in vain.
“Come on now,” Aguilar had laughed. “And besides, they’ll never recognize you in the suit the good Lord has provided.”
He set a box on the bed. “I think everything is here. If you will go ahead and put on the costume, we will be ready when the music is finished.” He went out and shut the door just as the piano solo began.
I had spread pieces of the costume on the bed. At one time it had been a Santa outfit. But moths, time, moisture, mildew, and inadequate storage had reduced the costume to shreds of red and white.
The door opened, “You might need this,” Aguilar had said as an afterthought as he handed me a roll of transparent tape, “God also provides the patching.”
Patches and wads of stiff yellowed tape covered almost every square inch of the tattered outfit. I put the trousers on over my slacks to retain my modesty and put on the tattered red coat. I had tried to tape the tearing cloth back together the best I could, but the least stress tore it in another place. It was so rotten it almost disintegrated in my hands.
The beard and wig were in like disrepair. I taped them back together the best I could, put them on and looked into the mirror. It was ghastly! It was like staring at an apparition from a horror movie, the ghost of Christmas past, a leper with the skin falling away! I didn’t know whether I should go into the other room shouting Ho! Ho! Ho! or Unclean! Unclean! Unclean! My impulse had been to tear the outfit off, join the others and say Santa couldn’t find us there in Japan. But it was hard to be too serious about the situation on a stomach stuffed with turkey, candied sweet potatoes, fruit salad, squash pie and hot rolls. I sat on the bed and waited. The piano solo was followed by applause and shouts of “More! More!” I had dimly heard the piano begin another solo and yet another piece as I steadily grew colder. Thirty minutes later, I still sat shivering in the unheated room, dressed like a mummy from King Tut’s grave, waiting to be an absolute complete fool in front of my new found foreign friends and a family who would probably never let me forget it.
At long last, Father Jose Aguilar, who was a dead ringer for actor Peter Sellers, had opened the door, taken a look and doubled over with laughter. “I think we are ready for you now,” he gasped between laughing fits. He pushed me ahead of him into the front room where we were met with similar laughter and merriment at my expense.
Actually at the moment it was a little embarrassing, but I hope in retrospect that I hid it. We were all a long way from home in a land very different from our own cultures and an evening of speaking our own languages and letting down our hair without too much restraint was a Christmas gift in itself.
May this holiday season be without too much stress and your lives be fulfilled with good feelings toward your fellow man.
Respectfully,
Kenneth Fenter
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