“Mom!” hollered Ricky from the bedroom my friend Anna Marie calls her office. “Mom! What’s a b-r-o-t-h-e-l?”
Anna Marie’s tea splashed clear across the kitchen table as she slammed down her mug and jumped to her feet. In two bounding strides she was across the room and halfway down the hall.
I followed at a somewhat slower pace.
Nine-year-old Ricky was seated in front of the computer terminal, calmly scrolling through an Internet website.
“You know the rules!” exclaimed Anna Marie, spinning his chair around so that he faced her. “You’re off the computer for a week, young man!”
“But…Mom…” protested Ricky, “I just wanted to know if Santa Claus had an e-mail address.”
Anna Marie froze. I couldn’t contain a strangled snicker. She shot me a ‘you-try-being-a-parent’ look and I bit my tongue.
“Ricky,” she said softly, “please go to your room. I’ll come talk to you about this in a few minutes.”
Ricky left without further argument while Anna Marie and I hastily pulled chairs up to the computer table. She pulled down the “History” window in the menu bar. Sure enough, Ricky had attempted to access information on Santa Claus. He had then followed over a dozen links to the sites exploring the history of Saint Nicholas.
“Listen to this,” said Anna Marie, as she paraphrased the text on the first screen. “The Feast of Saint Nicholas, primarily a European children’s festival, is celebrated on December 6, the anniversary of the day he died in the early 300s.”
“That’s not going to sell a whole lot of greeting cards,” I interjected.
She ignored me. “In some countries, children fill their shoes with straw and carrots for Saint Nicholas’ horse on the night of December 5th. In the morning, they find the straw and carrots replaced by small toys and cookies if they’ve been good and a whipping rod if they’ve been naughty.
“The Dutch brought the festival to America during the 1600s, and in the 1800s the figure of Saint Nicholas became Santa Claus.”
“Go on.”
“That’s all the information at this site.” Anna Marie pressed the button labeled ‘back’ and selected another entry. “Here we go. Nicholas was Bishop of Myra, a town in present-day Turkey.”
“Saint Nick came from Turkey? Aren’t you getting him confused with Saint Thanksgiving?”
“Do you want me to continue or not?” asked Anna Marie.
“By all means, continue—we haven’t gotten to the part about the brothel yet.
Anna Marie read on: “Nicholas had an affluent background. When he was still a young man he heard of an honorable family that had fallen into poverty. The family had three daughters, who were unable to marry because their father was too poor to offer a dowry. In desperation, the father resolved to deliver his daughters to a brothel.”
“Was the father’s real name ‘Daddy Dearest’?”
“Anyway,” said Anna Marie reading on, “Nicholas came up with a scheme to assist the family. He tossed three packets of money through the daughters’ bedroom window one night. The money was a sufficient dowry for the three daughters. The tradition of giving gifts on Christmas morning stems from Nicholas’ act of charity.”
“Hold on a minute,” I said. “Exactly what does all this have to do with Christmas?”
“I cannot be responsible for the validity of information found on the Internet,” said Anna Marie. “Let’s check another site.
“This one says that in much of Europe, men in bishops’ robes pose as Saint Nicholas on December 6, examine children on their prayers, urge them to be good, and give them gifts.”
“December 6 is not Christmas.” I took control of the computer mouse and accessed another entry.
Anna Marie continued reading aloud over my shoulder. “Sinterklaas is Dutch for Saint Nicholas. Dutch immigrants founded the colony of New Amsterdam, which, in 1664, became New York. Sinterklaas became Santa Claus in America. After several decades, Christian society found it more appropriate to bring this ‘children’s festival’ closer to that of the birth of the Infant Jesus. Saint Nicholas henceforth made his rounds to Christian families during the night of December 24.” She smiled. “There, are you happy now?”
“Not quite.” I scanned several more sites. “Okay, here’s where the chimney comes in. This version says that Saint Nicholas threw three bags of gold down the chimney of the girls destined to be sold into prostitution.”
“Which reminds me,” said Anna Marie with a sigh, “I guess I better go talk to Ricky.”
“Guess so.” I agreed. “Meantime, I’ll just sit here quietly and try to keep from making lame jokes about Santa saying ‘Ho, Ho, Ho!'”
“I’d appreciate that,” said Anna Marie.