Santa lives
Costume transforms act of kindness into legacy of happiness
TODD MUNSON is a senior
broadcasting major and
a Daily Nebraskan
columnist.
I am Santa Claus.
No, really, I am.
And I’ve learned the meaning of
Christmas because of it
For what could become a seven
year streak, I’ve played the prognosti
cator of prognosticators for a co
worker of my mother’s. I know pro
longing the myth of Santa ultimately
could lead to my future assassination
at the hand of someone full of angst
because they believed I was indeed
jolly old St Nick. But I truly hope the
smiles I bring in the now will make up
for the painful truth of die later.
Allow me to exnlain
One foggy Christmas Eve, my
mother came to me and dropped a
worn box at my feet. She then told me
I was going to play Santa for her co
worker Penny’s family that night.
Turns out, the young’uns became a lit
tle suspicious that moments after
grandma disappeared, Santa would
magically arrive. Hence, I was to play
Santa and teach those meddling kids a
lesson that Santa is real.
Being your typical mad-at-the
world 17-year-old, I refused. She
countered with the promise of 10
bucks. Without hesitation, I bent over
to the establishment and dropped my
pants.
A few hours later, I pried myself
off the couch and grudgingly slipped
into the requisite uniform. The match
ing velvet pants and jacket, vinyl boots
and pillow for the belly made me look
like a carbon copy of every depart
ment-store Santa in the world and
made me all the more irritated at the
notion of playing dress-up for some
stupid kids I didn’t know.
But when it came time to top off
the ensemble with the billowing beard
and cap, I experienced a rush much
akin to an Elvis impersonator strap
ping on his sideburns -1 became Santa
Claus.
The plan was quite simple and has
been the same ever since. I meet Penny
out in the alley, she slips me a 10-spot,
hands me the bag of gifts, gives me a
quick description of the faces to whom
the gifts belong and, like clock
work, Santa makes
his appearance. It was
originally supposed to be a
one-time-only act, but each
year, there seems to be a new
addition to the family or
some faraway relatives
coming to town with their
kids in tow.
Playing the role
of the deity that knows ,
all isn’t an easy task,
especially for someone
with a bad short-term
memory. The pressure to
get up to six names right,
on the first and only try, is
incredible. One slip-up, and
the myth could be gone
prematurely. Every time I’ve
made the walk to die front
door - sorry, no chim
neys for this Santa -
uiv iuuuvj cuv xv^vur f. a ^
ed over and over in *
my head, leaving no
time to get into
character until I
ring the door
bell.
And that’s
when all hell
breaks loose on
the holiest
of holidays.
Ho-ho-ho
ing into an explo
sion of blinding
flashbulbs and a
screaming children is
frightening for a second or
two, but the moment I can
see again, the smiling kids
launch the Santa act into the
stratosphere. ;
Let’s see, one year my
impression of Santa fea
tured Santa impersonating
Elvis. During another
Christmas, I got the kids
to do the Macarena. Last
year, I pulled the unthinkable and sin
gle-handedly delivered a La-Z-Boy in
addition to the regular booty. My wry
sense of humor
and feeble
attempts at
getting the
sultry niece
to sit in my
lap and
give
AmyMaktin/DN
Santa a kiss ahvays have the adults
rolling in laughter. Above all, I’ve
never lost my beard in the mayhem,
blinked in a photo or forgotten a single
name.
What really gives me the most
gratitude is the realization that, in this
family, the materialism of the gilts
isn’t important. I could hand out lumps
of coal and I don’t think anyone would
care.
A little experiment proved that it
isn’t just this one family that knows
$ Christmas isn’t about receiving
3 gifts of value and prestige.
I had just completed my
^ second run as Santa, and on
my way home I decided
it was time to make the
best use of the costume. I
Hipped a quick U-turn and
headed for Cory’s house.
( ^ He was the one
person I
' knew who
could sneak out
/ . on Christmas Eve.
/g / Here we were,
gT / two juvenile delin
y quents - one dressed
“ , as Santa, the other like a
iiuiuiai iuu. ruiu uiwjr
were both riding in a 1973
Volkswagen Bus, resplen
dent in all its
bumper
stickered
glory.
A chance
like this came
around only
once a year, and
we were going to
make the most out
of it. The best
plan our cor
rupt minds could
f' , l \j> think of was to
|f\ {o ' buy beer
down at the
local 7
Eleven.
" Logic told us
, that there’d be
f Wf no way the cleric
would dare ask
Santa for identifi
__ cation.
^ ' Instead, we
wussed out before
the barley pops
were even removed from the cooler.
After a few games of pinball, the Santa
suit began to take control over me. I
had an uncontrollable desire to play
Santa on a grand scale.
We spent the entirety of my $10
salary, minus two Slurpees and two
rounds of pinball, on fruity Chiclets.
Our new plan was to drive about town
and give them out to anyone and
everyone.
As we walked out into the cold, a
family entered the store. A quick
glance made it obvious that this wasn’t
exactly the merriest Christmas for
them. “It’s Santa Claus!” cried their
rosy-cheeked daughter, who could not
have been more than 3 or 4. Without
hesitation, I reached into my goody
bag and handed her the first pack of
Chiclets. The girl’s exclamation of
wide-eyed excitement told us that this
was her only gift of the day.
Six years later, I vividly remember
that moment A box of Chiclets, no
more than 50 cents, was enough to
bring joy into this girl’s life and let her
experience that same feeling that mil
lions of others take for granted. Santa
had finally paid her a visit.
Ivl Ult lit A l tvupit livuia, V'Viy
and I were an anomaly, puttering about
town in a heaterless Volkswagen Bus,
screeching to a halt at any sign of life
and leaping out to hand the bewildered
souls a box of Chiclets and wishes of a
merry Christmas.
As the night wore on, we found
ourselves resorting to following cars
and honking until they stopped. On
every occasion, people were shocked
and confused but happy for the
Chiclets and Christmas cheer. One
family we pulled over even had us
pose for a photo. On any other night,
two high schoolers in a hippie van
means nothing but trouble, but give —
them a Santa suit and some Chiclets
and watch out
This Christmas, try not to let mate
rialism get the best of you. So what if
you don’t find a Furby or shiny new
North Face jacket under the tree? Just
think for a second about that little girl
who was elated by 10 multicolored
pieces of gum. Maybe then, that bah
humbug lump of coal will unlodge
itself and the spirit of Christmas will
make itself clear - it’s better to give
than to receive.
Happy holidays, everyone.
Male-order pride
Real ’90s man should rediscover true masculine spirit
ADAM KLINKER is a
sophomore English and
history major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist
What is a man?
Some men could presume to
know, because they exhibit qualities
characteristic of the sex. They are
men’s men, the last of a dying breed,
perhaps.
They are tough, physical, intelli
gent - the solid rock standing out
above a squeamish, plush civilization.
But in this society, in our present
situation, can a man remain a man,
the way men were in generations pre
vious?
The ideal in the overextended
society is to create the ’90s Man; the
idea being to lay aside the primal
instincts in men and soften them to
the future, making them captives of
their own emotions.
To some extent, men are forgot
ten.
The emphasis in recent years has
been to eliminate the stereotypes sur
rounding women in the areas of criti
cal and logical thinking and reason
ing in math and science.
Since the women’s movement
became visible in the 1920s, the trend
has shifted to admire the strong will
of a woman.
Today, men continue to dominate
the majority of the world’s leadership
in business, science and technology.
Women still hit the glass ceiling in
mostjobsj and, for the most part,
there aren’t a great deal of male
UUU1VUKUVV1 O.
Men still enjoy the power in being
men, and women are now learning
their own powers as females in an
opened world.
But after thousands of years of
civilization and maleness, the world
in our time doesn’t know what to do
with men.
Men don’t know what do with
themselves.
There is a void that needs to be
filled - an unexplainable gap between
what women are becoming and what
men have been in the past.
They have forgotten what it is to
be men, to act like men. And all the
more scary, nobody is willing to
teach them.
Male children born today will be
brought up in a world of turmoil and
confusion over what their place in life
will be. If their mothers and fathers
are in the workplace, they are raised
by surrogate institutions such as
schools or, worse, daycare facilities.
To use a catch phrase of our soci
ety: Without a strong male role
model, the next generation of men
will be less able to deal with their
roles as men. They will be detached
from society and well behind
females.
in scnoois, male ctuldren may be
getting less attention as teachers may
be more concerned with helping
female students develop their math
and science skills.
For people such as Thomas
Mortenson, the author of a report
explaining the downfall of future
generations of men, the idea of males
falling off die charts in terms of edu
cation is becoming a reality.
Studies like the one done by
Mortenson, indicating the downward
trend of male college graduates, say
the graduation rate of men will be
hovering around single digits in the
mid-21st century.
While such studies are inflated,
unrealistic and exaggerated, there still
is a reason for concern underlying the
shock value of these reports.
But to go so far as to say that
there will be no male college gradu
ates in 100 years is a farce. Men will
not cease to earn degrees entirely,
though it is possible, as the percent
ages show, that the number of degrees
awarded will decline.
In addition, it is laudable, not
lamentable, that women are gaining
ground and overtaking men in the
race for college degrees.
It has been a great age in the
world. More ports have been opened
to more people than during any other
lime in msiory.
For the most part, it would seem
that males aren’t the ambitious ones
in the modem society. What has
come easy for so many years is now
being challenged by enthusiastic
women.
But men need to act like men. The
male children being bom today need
to look to this generation for support,
a crucial framework for their continu
ance in the spread of world affairs.
Men need to rise to the challenges
now posed by the ’90s Woman and
make new marks, being willing to
join with women in advancing the
society.
At this point, a war between the
sexes does exist - a war of influence
and dominance and, to some extent, it
is being won by women.
There is no need for such a strug
gle but to buffer the egos on either
side of the gender line. Males in this
generation need to accept the fact that
women can maintain the lifestyle of
high-powered executives and schol
ars.
Men also need to discover them
selves again - a reinvention of the
male spirit, so to speak.
When men can redevelop new
ideas about their roles and adapt in
the new political and business world
environment moiaea oy me advance
ment of women, the future society
will be better fused.
At the same time, men need to
hold on to what has been working for
many years - the idea of aggressive,
austere persistence in dealing with all
matters.
Such a balance will prove benefi
cial for men as well as women - and
men can feel comfortable in what
could be a new world for males,
while still clinging dearly to the pre
cepts that have defmed maleness
throughout the centuries.
