A Lesson Learned In The Presence of the Big Man Himself (And I Don't Mean Santa)
I sat at the table full of books welcoming each child over after they had either spoken to Santa or had hidden behind their parents out of fear (although the curiosity always brings little eyes around to peek at the man in the red suit). I explained to the parent accompanying the child that the books had been donated by a non-profit member of the chamber and each child could choose one to take with them for free. The word “free” seemed to startle some parents, it made them feel awkward, I almost wanted to ask for a small donation just to make them feel better.
I watched time after time as the parents would turn to their child and explain that they could pick out a book – “any book you want!” I watched as the child’s eyes grew big, as they would look at all the books. Pick this one up to examine it more closely. Put it down and reach for another. Puppies or cats? ABC’s or 123’s? Books about Pirates or Princesses? At some point along the way one book would choose the child. And they would take it in, close to their hearts, not opening it, not reading it there, just clutching it with sheer adoration.
And then I’d see the parent. Rifling through the books themselves. Saying, “Hmm…honey? Did you look at this one? What about Bob the Builder? Did you see this one about dinosaurs?” I wanted them to look at their child. I wanted them to look at their child and SEE.
“How about this one, dear? How about this “Pooch on the Loose?” Or how about Thomas the Tank Engine?”
And then they might turn and see that their child has allowed a book to choose them, they would see the child holding this book near and dear to them. And they would say, “oh, sweetie, hm…not that book. How about THIS book?”
One parent even got into a tug-of-war trying to take a book out of her daughter’s arms. Parents tried to do a quick swap, or to give their child a cookie and offer to hold the book the child had so they could swap it for another.
Why is it necessary to take away the voices of our children? Why do we start so early on convincing them that they cannot make good decisions on their own? Why do we offer up the right – “choose any book YOU want to!” and then take it away – “Oh no, not that book!”
After 5 hours and two different locations with Santa and his entourage, as I wore thin of parents forcing screaming children into the laps of the man who is the source of their fear; as I watched parents embarrass their children by bringing them when they are 15 years old, or by taking more of the free handouts than they were supposed to; after a long day of dealing with the exact part of the holiday I detest and have boycotted myself, there came a mother.
She was Caucasian with an Asian daughter. They were both beautiful. They had the Big Guy all to themselves as it was late in the day and there were no lines left. They were taking their time. They had watched outside the room, through the glass for awhile and had now come in a little closer. Mom helped daughter off with her coat- she was maybe 3 years old. They stood for a few moments together and just watched Santa. Mom explained to me that her daughter was a little shy about it, a little unsure. I said, “There’s absolutely no rush, take your time.” They finally walked slowly up and mom suggested that the daughter shake hands with Santa. Which she did just fine, and she talked to him a little and eventually sat on his lap. Mom was able to back up and take a couple photos that were picture-perfect.
And when it was all said and done and we had given the little girl her “goodie bag” and she had picked out her one free book, she and her mom sat right down on the floor together to look at the things that she had in her bag, to stick stickers on themselves, to eat some of the candy cane and to hug the little bear. They read the book they had picked out.
I noticed even later that they were still reading books together in the library, munching on the cookies.
They had made an afternoon out of it. It was the daughter’s agenda, not Mom’s. There was no rushing off to the next stop, no store they had to get to right now, nothing else in the world that needed to get done except enjoy the moment.
All the parents will go home with a photograph of their child (screaming or not) on Santa’s lap. The picture seeming to be the actual event. “Sit right there – no, over there. Wait, move your coat. Hold on, don’t move. Wait, let me hold that book. Okay, smile! No, not your cheesy smile, give me a real smile! Okay one more! Okay, now, tell Santa what you want and get your bag, there are other kids waiting!”
This child will go home with a memory of the event etched in her heart - a memory far more about her relationship with her mother than one with Mr. Claus. And I came home with a sweet reminder of how to show my child that I love him more than anything. By simply paying attention.
I watched time after time as the parents would turn to their child and explain that they could pick out a book – “any book you want!” I watched as the child’s eyes grew big, as they would look at all the books. Pick this one up to examine it more closely. Put it down and reach for another. Puppies or cats? ABC’s or 123’s? Books about Pirates or Princesses? At some point along the way one book would choose the child. And they would take it in, close to their hearts, not opening it, not reading it there, just clutching it with sheer adoration.
And then I’d see the parent. Rifling through the books themselves. Saying, “Hmm…honey? Did you look at this one? What about Bob the Builder? Did you see this one about dinosaurs?” I wanted them to look at their child. I wanted them to look at their child and SEE.
“How about this one, dear? How about this “Pooch on the Loose?” Or how about Thomas the Tank Engine?”
And then they might turn and see that their child has allowed a book to choose them, they would see the child holding this book near and dear to them. And they would say, “oh, sweetie, hm…not that book. How about THIS book?”
One parent even got into a tug-of-war trying to take a book out of her daughter’s arms. Parents tried to do a quick swap, or to give their child a cookie and offer to hold the book the child had so they could swap it for another.
Why is it necessary to take away the voices of our children? Why do we start so early on convincing them that they cannot make good decisions on their own? Why do we offer up the right – “choose any book YOU want to!” and then take it away – “Oh no, not that book!”
After 5 hours and two different locations with Santa and his entourage, as I wore thin of parents forcing screaming children into the laps of the man who is the source of their fear; as I watched parents embarrass their children by bringing them when they are 15 years old, or by taking more of the free handouts than they were supposed to; after a long day of dealing with the exact part of the holiday I detest and have boycotted myself, there came a mother.
She was Caucasian with an Asian daughter. They were both beautiful. They had the Big Guy all to themselves as it was late in the day and there were no lines left. They were taking their time. They had watched outside the room, through the glass for awhile and had now come in a little closer. Mom helped daughter off with her coat- she was maybe 3 years old. They stood for a few moments together and just watched Santa. Mom explained to me that her daughter was a little shy about it, a little unsure. I said, “There’s absolutely no rush, take your time.” They finally walked slowly up and mom suggested that the daughter shake hands with Santa. Which she did just fine, and she talked to him a little and eventually sat on his lap. Mom was able to back up and take a couple photos that were picture-perfect.
And when it was all said and done and we had given the little girl her “goodie bag” and she had picked out her one free book, she and her mom sat right down on the floor together to look at the things that she had in her bag, to stick stickers on themselves, to eat some of the candy cane and to hug the little bear. They read the book they had picked out.
I noticed even later that they were still reading books together in the library, munching on the cookies.
They had made an afternoon out of it. It was the daughter’s agenda, not Mom’s. There was no rushing off to the next stop, no store they had to get to right now, nothing else in the world that needed to get done except enjoy the moment.
All the parents will go home with a photograph of their child (screaming or not) on Santa’s lap. The picture seeming to be the actual event. “Sit right there – no, over there. Wait, move your coat. Hold on, don’t move. Wait, let me hold that book. Okay, smile! No, not your cheesy smile, give me a real smile! Okay one more! Okay, now, tell Santa what you want and get your bag, there are other kids waiting!”
This child will go home with a memory of the event etched in her heart - a memory far more about her relationship with her mother than one with Mr. Claus. And I came home with a sweet reminder of how to show my child that I love him more than anything. By simply paying attention.
Comments