The day St. Nicholas (really!) came

By Alison Langley

I sat on a damp log that framed the playground and watched my two children swing. It was a grey morning and the day loomed ahead. Let them get out some energy, I figured. There was nothing else to do. Less than three weeks to Christmas and I was in no mood for cheer.

It was 1994. We had just been transferred — quickly and unexpectedly — to Germany after spending four exciting years in Hungary. We had said hasty and teary goodbyes, wedged every inch of our Mitsubishi station wagon with belongings I figured we would need until we found a permanent place to stay, and driven off to a new land with an over-drugged cat (oops) and no plan beyond getting there.

We had decided we would drive as far as our kids’ patience would allow that first day. Surprisingly we had enough Raffi and Peter, Paul and Mommy on tap to get us through Austria.

Visiting Christmas markets and drinking the gluhwein had indeed been the high point of our Christmas season thus far. Truth was, life had gone downhill faster than the kids sledding on a plastic bag (our sleds were in storage).

No houses were for rent at the moment, but some should be available starting in March, we were told. With no permanent address, we couldn’t register our five-year old Sarah in kindergarten or find a playgroup for two-year old Chris.

I found that out because earlier that morning, the kids and I had asked at the school nearest our temporary flat. The head of the kindergarten was in a hurry to get rid of us. She was expecting an important guest, she said. I had no clue as to why she was winking furtively at me.

We left dejected and feeling lonely. No kindergartens or playgroups. It was day five and still we had no new friends. Our old friends, no doubt, were having great Christmas parties back in Budapest. Our relatives were 4,000 miles away, but because Mike was starting a new job, we were stuck in Bonn. Even the cat had run away.

Before we left the school, though, we decided to stop first at their playground. At the moment Sarah was furiously pumping her legs and arching her back to see how high she could force her swing. Chris was straddling a child-sized bulldozer, trying valiantly to coax the machine into scooping up some frozen sand.

My bottom was getting cold, but I knew we would stay at the playground until the kids had tired of it. I absently fiddled with some wood chips at my feet as I contemplated how we were going to spend the rest of the day.

Then we heard our Christmas miracle. It said:

“Hallo Sarah!”

Startled, we all looked up and saw a tall, thin man dressed in a red cloak striding toward us. He had a long white beard and was carrying a nearly empty burlap sack.

Sarah dropped her jaw and let her legs dangle from the swing. Chris starred wide-eyed in a mixture of wonder and fear. I was merely perplexed.

Then it hit me. Today was December 6th, St. Nicholas Day in Germany. The day when Knecht Ruprecht left sticks, stones and pieces of coal for the bad children, but Nicholas brought cheer to the good ones.

As he neared the playground I heard him ask, in German, “Why aren’t you insid-” Then he stopped. Clearly the Sarah on the swing was not the child he thought he knew. It didn’t matter. My kids spoke English and Hungarian. They didn’t understand a word of German. I acted fast.

“Sarah!” I said in slow, loud English. “St. Nicholas DID remember you! Even though we’re so far from home.”

St. Nick hesitated only for a split second. What I said must have registered and he continued walking toward us.

I kept going: “And I’ll bet he knows you, too, Christopher!”

“Of course I do, Christopher,” said the jolly man with a thick German accent, reaching into his bag and pulling out chocolates and oranges for the kids.

Neither said a word. They just grinned, and starred.

St. Nicholas stayed for only a minute, but it didn’t matter to my two children. They had proof! They had seen him! Even though they were miles from home, Santa hadn’t forgotten them. As the day, weeks and month wore on, their story of St. Nicholas’s visit grew.

He had yelled out, “Hello Sarah and Chris!” He had asked them why they weren’t in Budapest anymore and how they liked Bonn. He asked after the cat. He had stayed and chatted a while! Santa Claus! He did! Really!

They had only one question: Why did he come so early?

For years after that I struggled for an answer that would satisfy. But that year, it didn’t matter. That lonely year in 1994 was when St. Nicholas really did come.