The day I met Swedish Santa
As a Swede, I’ve always had a fondness for Christmas traditions. Perhaps because it’s the darkest month of the year (sunrise at 9am, sunset at 3pm), Swedes do Christmas right with lots of beautiful decorations and delicious food. Chocolate-filled advent calendars, saffron buns for Santa Lucia, mulled wine with cinnamon and cardamom (“Glögg”, pronounced “gloegg”), and of course a Christmas meal that competes with Thanksgiving.
In Sweden, Santa Claus visits homes on Christmas Eve, and delivers gifts in person. He wears a big fur coat, the obligatory red hat, and carries a big sack filled with presents. He knocks on the front door and grabs a seat in the living room. He pulls out one package at a time, reading a little poem to identify the recipient.
In my cousins’ home, Santa was usually––SPOILER ALERT––played by my uncle Anders.
One year, as Anders’ daughters were just getting old enough to catch on to the ruse, my family joined them for a big celebration. Seeing an opportunity, my uncle asked if I would like to take over the lead role.
After dinner, I snuck down to the basement, stuffed a pillow under my shirt, donned the fur-coat and a pair of sturdy boots and a full-face Santa mask, and stealthily made my way down the driveway. I lit my lantern, hunched my back and haltingly started back.
Our plan was almost derailed when the neighbors’ kids ran to the window and started shouting “Mom! Dad! Santa is here!”. I waved awkwardly and trudged on, hoping that a fellow Santa might stop by their home later that evening. I knocked on my cousins’ door, ho-ho-ho’d my way in, and took a seat.
My youngest cousin Ellinor was just old enough that she had more or less figured out that her dad was Santa, but still kind of wanted to believe. Imagine her surprise when Anders put his hand on her shoulder and asked if she wanted to speak to Santa!
I had never seen her eyes so large. This little girl who had it all figured out was once again a shy child. I can’t claim that she thought I was the real Santa, but there were just enough people there that she couldn’t easily figure out who was missing. For one more year, the mystery of Christmas endured!
It turns out that the magic wasn’t only rekindled for Ellinor, but for me as well. Many years later, as I sit here with my 6-week-old son Erik, I look forward to sharing all the wonderful Swedish Christmas Traditions with him — including, of course, introducing him to Santa!
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