Christmas and the Reindeer: What Is One to Do?

A Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, and Charlie Brown's annual special aside, most families develop their own holiday classics. Here's one of our personal favorites, back to the days long ago when our daughter, now grown, struggled to keep sleepy eyes open in hopes of catching a glimpse of Santa himself.

It was mid-December, late at night. I heard the distinctive plodding of my daughter's feet running across the floor. We met as she was returning to her room from checking to see if, perhaps, Santa had dropped off any early packages under the tree.

From very early on, Hannah was always a "holiday person." Actually, she's an "occasion person." Whatever the occasion -- from Christmas to the night before roadwork scheduled on the street -- her enthusiasm for whatever was about to happen typically caused her, and as result caused me and her mom, less than a perfect night's sleep. And as a family with both Christmas and Hanukkah on the plate, our child (who once described herself as "half-star, half-cross") is pretty excitable for much of the winter. Long ago, I learned that after such a midnight wake-up it was best to just go with the flow.

"Daddy, will you snuggle?" was the invitation Hannah knew I couldn't refuse. But once warm and cuddled, the next question inevitably was "Daddy, can we chat?" This night's topic: Santa, the reindeer, and how that whole worldwide-present-delivery thing works. Joining us for the conversation, Lilly the cat sat on the pillow between our heads, purring her outboard motor purr. Kind of a pdtrtrtrrrr.

This was many years back and I didn't take notes, so aware that I have no proof to offer when Hannah denies this ever happened, here's how I remember the conversation.

"Dad, I have a question," which is how it always began. "Dad, how does Santa get everywhere in one night?" I sleepily muttered something about magic. "Pdtrtrtrrrr," added Lilly.

"But Dad, whose magic? Santa's or the reindeers', or is it the sled?" Okay, by now I was awake, not wanting to blow this: there's great value in holding onto a belief in a magic goodness that, if not an ever present resident, is at least a regular visitor to the world.

Careful, knowing Hannah well enough to be aware that she was as likely working on a theory as seeking information, I responded with that special brand of fatherly wisdom. In other words, I cop out: "What do you think, Hannah?"

"I think it's the reindeer, Dad. The animals are always the ones with the magic."

Lilly purrs a longer louder pdtrtrtrtrtrrrrrr, and the other animals begin to climb up in bed with us, aware that this is where the action is. They may have the magic, but our pack wasn't using it to help us get back to sleep. I tell Hannah that she's probably right, that it's the reindeer who carry the sleigh and the jolly fat guy through the dark sky at a speed that brings them to every child's home in a single night. "Let's go to sleep now Hannah."

Relative quiet, a soothing pdtrtrtrrrr, some hope for a couple of hours before dawn. But then I heard a fresh "Dad, I have a question." Oh, no.

"Dad, do you think the reindeer get enough rest? I mean, maybe, the humane society should try to get Christmas spread out, so they don't have to get everywhere in one night. Or maybe Santa could use a jet." You know, Hanukkah is really a much simpler holiday.