2006-12-07 
 

a visit from nikolaus

As a child, one of my favorite parts of the Christmas season was December 6th when Nikolaus would come to visit, a tradition my mother kept alive for us after we came to the States.

For the most part, my memories are vague and hazy. I do seem to recall one day in particular as my favorite, but truth may be that it's an amalgam of several years that I've crafted into a neatly tied bow. That happens quite often around Christmastime.

A cold night, with snow falling. Dad ran out to pick up something at the market before the snow would keep us trapped inside, and a short while later, there came a knock on the front door and the jingle of bells.

A knock on the front door was always a bit surreal to me. No one ever knocked there except for Amway reps and other odd folk who didn't realize that the proper entrance to our home was at the side. I usually avoided knocks at the front door and let Mom bear the brunt of the sales pitch, but the jingle of bells and knowledge of the day had me bold enough to go see who it was. Oh okay, bold enough to drag my little brother along to open it with me...with Mommy close behind.

There he was, wrapped up in a warm woolen coat and wearing a knit cap over his white hair. Leave the artificially bright red to Santa. Nikolaus was the real deal, clothed in shades of wintry grey and brown. His sack wasn't trimmed with fluffy fur either, but made of rough burlap that made the presents inside seem even more special. In fact, the only fluffy thing about him was his beard. I remember running my hand over it and being amazed at the softness.

He carried an impressive walking stick and spoke to us in a jovial, but gruff voice. We'd get various candies and Christmas oranges, that I now know to call mandarins. There was a new game for us to play and some small toys. We sang a song or two around the advent wreath with Mom playing along on the guitar and, of course, we fed him cookies and cocoa. I felt warm and safe.

Then he had to go. I asked if he could wait a bit and meet Dad, but he had other children to visit still and traveling through the newly fallen snow took time.

Even for a child, it's pretty easy to tell when a hug comes from a sense of obligation or a place of love. When Nikolaus gathered my brother and I up for our goodbye, I knew it was real, and it made me sadder that he had to leave. But leave he did and not more than five minutes later, Dad got back with the milk he'd gone to pick up. How did they keep missing each other? We ran up to tell him all about the visit and he gave us both a big hug and smiled over at Mom.

That was the day I realized my dad gave hugs just as good as Nikolaus.

Labels: memory lane

* posted by me at 2:09 AM

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