Fist Fighting Santa Claus
My uncle had always been a comedic man. When he was young he went to school for a single day and came home claiming he’d never go back again, my grandparents were not exactly pleased by this and forced him back the next day. At school he was the object of many girls eyes--and many boy’s jealousy--making him popular and disliked all at once. Even after his school days he was still the same web of charisma that ensnared constant attention. The main event of every family gathering. Christmas was one of such gatherings where his arrival would be greatly anticipated by everyone in the family. He’d always be welcomed by warm arms wrapping around his shoulders, smiles upon familiar faces, and eyes gleaming up at him waiting for some form of comedic relief.
It was his “Santa Jokes” that gained him his most fame among the household. Every Christmas he would travel down to Regina from his home in Saskatoon, he would always be slightly bitter upon arrival, but not because of his journey here, rather from his allergies that would begin as soon as he came in contact with our two pet dogs. He enjoyed the attention that came with staying in Regina for a few days and was willing to bear it. When my sister and I were young he had told us that Santa was actually his best friend, and that he stayed up every night to meet with Santa and give him his cookies and make sure all the presents were correctly in place before sending the jolly old man back on his way. My sister and I apparently fell for such stories and even believed that the scar on his chin had truly been from a fist fight he had with Saint Nick.
Green stockings were hung over a burning orange fire as we all had sat together on the couch while listening to my uncle’s tale. Voice in a hushed whisper. Flames clicking as small sparks almost jumped through the black wiring holding it in.
“Santa and I have a history” ...Sounds of awe and gasps blew through the air as my Uncle sipped slowly at a mug of Apple Cider. “I knew him for a long long time--so long that I don’t even recall when we first met. He isn’t always a jolly fellow, let me tell you, he often whined and complained to me about having to deliver so many presents in one night. It annoyed me and we got into a fight. I was victorious. This scar was the only damage he inflicted upon me.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t beat you. Your arms are quite scrawny.”
Everyone laughs together. Smiles together. Any family troubles are forgotten and harmony worms it’s way back into the room while everyone suddenly begins to enjoy the casual company of one another once again.
My uncle took his role as the comedian seriously, always making sure to liven up any gathering and decorating each face with a smile, but he also was kind hearted and always made sure to double check if the gifts were wrapped properly, and the cookies and milk were eaten just enough to give the appearance of being munched on by a large man dressed in red. My sister and I would always wake up to a full green tree with neatly wrapped gifts in pink, red, green, and white. Looks of childlike joy and wonder paired with knowing appreciative looks from the other adults always made my uncle feel as though he had truly done a good job. Christmas would never have been Christmas without my uncle Cameron.