Like most children, I believed in Santa while I was growing up. It wasn’t easy believing in someone who changed his name and his appearance every time my family moved from country to country.
I was born in Hungary, where Santa goes by the name of Mikulas or Szent Miklós. He is really a Bishop, not a jolly old dude who lives on the North Pole. He shows up on December 6th, giving children barely enough time to mend their ways and be worthy of presents.
Thankfully we moved to France before I was introduced to Mikulás’ assistant ‘Krampusz’, a horned, hairy creature with fangs and a tongue a mile long. Krampus’ job is to scare the bejesus out of children. If you are lucky, you just get a raw potato in your sock, but the really bad children get stuffed in Krampus’ backpack and taken to his ‘lair’, somewhere deep in the forest, to be eaten alive.
I was born in Hungary, where Santa goes by the name of Mikulas or Szent Miklós. He is really a Bishop, not a jolly old dude who lives on the North Pole. He shows up on December 6th, giving children barely enough time to mend their ways and be worthy of presents.
Thankfully we moved to France before I was introduced to Mikulás’ assistant ‘Krampusz’, a horned, hairy creature with fangs and a tongue a mile long. Krampus’ job is to scare the bejesus out of children. If you are lucky, you just get a raw potato in your sock, but the really bad children get stuffed in Krampus’ backpack and taken to his ‘lair’, somewhere deep in the forest, to be eaten alive.
In France, Santa is called 'Père Noël'. He had swapped his Bishop’s miter for a floppy looking hat with a pompon. Père Noël wasn't very generous in those post-war days, especially when he came down a poor refugee family's chimney. I started to connect the dots between the lack of heat in our apartment and Père Noel’s reluctance to leave us presents. Should I have a heart to heart with him, as he was climbing down our chimney? I decided that my French wasn’t good enough. It wouldn’t have added weight to my argument and he might not have left me any present at all!
When my family moved to Holland, I was introduced to the Dutch version of Santa. Over there, Santa plays second fiddle to a far less benevolent character named Sinterklaas. He must be a relative of the Mikulas of my native Hungary; same figure with a big pointy miter and a staff, riding a big white horse.
Every 5th of December, he arrives from Spain on a steam boat, accompanied by his 'helpers'. These helpers called ‘Zwarte Piet’ (black Peter), are a more benevolent version of the Hungarian Krampus. Theirs befalls the thankless task of selecting good and bad children. Good children get candy of course, bad children get coal or a branch in their socks. But if you have been particularly bad, you get stuffed in a canvas bag and shipped back to Spain. No wonder the Dutch are so stoic. Early on they are taught to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Needless to say I was especially good around December 5th. I couldn't care less about the presents, I just wanted to avoid the fate of those very bad children at all cost.
Had we decided to move to Iceland instead of Holland, a fate far worse than death might have awaited us, the Kando children. Iceland is the home of Gryla, a giantess. She leaves her cave, hunts for bad children, and carries them home in her giant sack and devours them. If you are lucky enough to escape her, a huge and vicious cat known as Jólakötturinn, comes down the snowy mountain slopes at Christmas time and finishes the job.
Every 5th of December, he arrives from Spain on a steam boat, accompanied by his 'helpers'. These helpers called ‘Zwarte Piet’ (black Peter), are a more benevolent version of the Hungarian Krampus. Theirs befalls the thankless task of selecting good and bad children. Good children get candy of course, bad children get coal or a branch in their socks. But if you have been particularly bad, you get stuffed in a canvas bag and shipped back to Spain. No wonder the Dutch are so stoic. Early on they are taught to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Needless to say I was especially good around December 5th. I couldn't care less about the presents, I just wanted to avoid the fate of those very bad children at all cost.
Had we decided to move to Iceland instead of Holland, a fate far worse than death might have awaited us, the Kando children. Iceland is the home of Gryla, a giantess. She leaves her cave, hunts for bad children, and carries them home in her giant sack and devours them. If you are lucky enough to escape her, a huge and vicious cat known as Jólakötturinn, comes down the snowy mountain slopes at Christmas time and finishes the job.
After I moved to the States, I heaved a sigh of relief. Here, people don't celebrate Sinterklaas or Saint Miklós. They probably never heard of Krampuses or Black Peters. There is only one Santa and his helpers morphed into benevolent little creatures who work for him non-stop on the North Pole. I won’t open a can of worms by asking whether they are legally employed. Do they get tossed out on the icebergs after they spend a lifetime chiseling away at nutcrackers and toy trains? I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t get retirement benefits, this being an American Santa and all.
Our Santa wasn’t always so jolly and family oriented. It took the genius of a cartoonist by the name of Thomas Nast, a German immigrant who created him during the Civil War, to lift up the Union soldiers’ spirits. From the somber religious figure of Mikulas, the American Santa morphed into a red cheeked, pudgy, white bearded elf. Best of all, the worst that can happen to American children is to find their stocking full of coal instead of toy trucks.
But I cannot stop thinking about the fate of the very bad Dutch and Hungarian children. Where do they go? Do they get a second chance at being good? Does Saint Miklós have a fallback plan for children who repent? I bet he plays the Saint card and washes his hands off of the whole messy affair. What good is a Krampus if you cannot lay all your evil deeds at his feet?
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