Jolly Old St. Nick

We all know that Christmas Eve is Santa’s big night. Less well known is that, a few weeks before Christmas, he slips away from his Christmas preparations for a night, visiting the houses who know to leave their shoes out in anticipation of a visit from Santa as he’s been known for much longer: St. Nicholas. December 6 is the Feast of St. Nicholas, a bishop who lived in the third and fourth centuries in present-day Turkey. Many stories are told of his generosity to the needy, one of which relates that he saved three young women from being sold into slavery by tossing bags of gold into the open window of their house—bags which are said to have landed in shoes left before the fire to dry. To this day, on the eve of his feast day—the night of December 5—many know that shoes left out might have a small something in them the next morning. Or a big something, as I discovered one day when I was a little girl and I went to school on December 6, no doubt clutching happily the little candies I’d received, only to see that a classmate had received a toy, an actual toy, and not a small inexpensive trinket, but a large electronic toy that was the envy of my whole class. That may have been the day I subconsciously decided that when I was a mom and St. Nicholas visited our house on the eve of his feast, he would leave my children something more than candy—a strange thought because I don’t ever remember being ungrateful for the little treats I received in my shoe every year. And honestly, the older I got, the more impressed I was that St. Nick always remembered, even in the midst of his own Christmas busy-ness. Then I became a mom, and you know that for that first Eve of St. Nicholas Day I had to leave out baby Thomas’ sock or whatever he was wearing at the ripe old age of almost-three-months-old. I don’t remember what we found in it the next morning, but it certainly wasn’t candy—he wasn’t even eating rice cereal yet, so obviously St. Nick had to leave a toy. Had to. Because almost-three-month-olds, who haven’t even found their own feet would definitely love a toy. Right? And so it went each year and each new baby, up until last year. Seeing five little shoes laid out by their bedroom doors before bed is just the sweetest sight, and it makes my heart swell with generosity of St. Nicholas proportions. Despite the fact that certain little gifts had already been prepared, one of wise old St. Nick’s helpers was tasked at the last minute with running out late to the store on the eve of his feast to find five toys that were of equal value but personalized for each of the five different little boys we have of all different ages. It was not my finest moment—I’m pretty sure I knew it at the time, but the hope of happy children can blind one so, can’t it? St. Nick’s helper did well, really well. He came back bearing exactly what I’d hoped for—five gifts of equal value, but each one just the thing that would make its recipient’s eyes shine with the wonder of the season. I surely fell asleep with a smile upon my lips and visions of sugarplums and the whole bit. I had to be up early to get the kids ready for school, bustling about downstairs before they’d awoken, and left it to their dad to tell me how they liked their surprises. I heard the crying first, all the way from upstairs. When they all came down a few minutes later, devoid of the cheer and gratitude I’d hoped for, I said to my husband, “What happened?” “Well,” he said, as he prepared his coffee, “apparently the item that Thomas received is not at all something he’s ever wanted. Gabe is wailing because he ‘only’ got Legos and his brothers got ‘toys.’ Johnny’s mad that his Spider Man doesn’t shoot actual webbing. Xave seems delighted with his light saber. And Taddy’s still sleeping.” Then he shook his head—he who’d not known that St. Nicholas visits houses on the eve of his feast until he married me—and went back upstairs to get ready for work. And here I’d thought St. Nick had done his very best work, the finest I’d ever seen in all the years I’d awoken to full shoes. My initial feeling of sorrow that the boys weren’t thrilled was quickly replaced with anger that I’d done such a terrible job of raising children to be grateful for what they receive. I had a good stern talk with them before they went to school, and even had to explain to one of their teachers why my usually cheerful, friendly boy was so miserable and surly and why his face was still tear-stained when we arrived at school. All that because they received a new toy that morning. Later that night, after the boys were in bed and my husband and I had a chance to talk about it all—amidst a chuckle or two on our part that we were so sure it would all be a smashing success, only to be so definitively proven wrong—we unanimously agreed to ask St. Nicholas to throw only small candies through our windows from now on. Just the other day one of my boys told me gleefully about the Star Wars figure he hoped to find in his shoe come this Friday morning (today, in fact). “Fat chance,” was my immediate, irritated thought, but then—maybe it would be kinder to let St. Nick ease into this new candy-only plan for these kids who were raised on toys-in-the-shoe. As of this writing, I don’t know what to expect Friday morning—I just hope there’s no crying (by them or me). Happy Feast of St. Nicholas and Merry Christmas to you all! Kate Towne Sherwin is a stay-at-home mom (SAHM) living in Saratoga Springs with her husband and their sons Thomas (9), Gabriel (7), John Dominic (5), Xavier (3), and Thaddeus (23 months); they expect their sixth baby in Spring 2014. She can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..