Christmas in Japan is about Christmas Eve. Christmas Day is not a holiday. No one I know is taking the day off tomorrow. This means anything Christmas-related needs to happen today. If I may spin this for a moment, in my defense I couldn't have gotten Santa's letter to this child on Christmas Eve if I tried. Let me back up.
Dozens of Santas visited Tohoku schools prior to Christmas Eve last year in an attempt to bring joy to children who had gone through varying degrees of trauma post March 11th. In theory, this was good. In reality, this confused the kids.
"Which one is real?"
"Why is Santa Japanese?" Pictures of Santa these kids have seen show a foreign-looking grandpa.
"Will Santa still come on Christmas Eve?"
Touche.
School principals made it clear to me "No Santa" this year. In an attempt to be creative while finding a way to continue the Christmas tradition of gifts-to-kids-in-Tohoku, I took Santa's son. It worked. Not accustomed to thinking Santa has a family but still making sense Santa would be generous to come early via his son, the kids ate it up. And, the candy Santa's son brought.
At one preschool, after gifts had been given out and Santa's son and the reindeer (me and another friend) had been serenaded with songs, kids came up to us sly looks on their faces. The three of us were handed home-made Christmas trees--pine cones decorated with glitter, sitting in a bottle cap for a base. We oohed and aahed appropriately. I believe I even giggled a bit.
After the cheering died down, one boy got up standing out in the sea of seated children. He walked over to the podium and pulled out a cardboard Christmas tree. Making his way to Santa's son, the tree passes from boy to man and everyone starts talking at once. The principal shushing us, says, "Daisuke made this just for you," and I swear I'm about to lose it.
Santa's son leans down, pats the boy's head and says, "I'll take this to my dad, Santa. He'll be so glad you made this for him." The boy beams. I blink hard. I will not lose it. I will not lose it. I will not lose it. We left touched, loved, basking in the feeling we did something good on this day. So far so good.
Fast forward a week and I'm back with Santa's son. He hands me a letter. "Can you get this to Daisuke?" I'm stunned. He remembered. I open the card, a pop-up Christmas image inside. On the back Santa wrote,
"Dear Daisuke,
Thank you for the wonderful Christmas tree you gave me. My son gave it to me. It made me very happy. I will never forget you or this gift. Thank you very much. Be a good boy next year, too. Love, Santa Claus."
I look up at Santa's son and am speechless. "I'll get this to Daisuke. I promise." That was Saturday afternoon. I make a mental note to make my way to the post office on Monday (today) to send Santa's letter express so it will get there on Christmas Day. I'm pleased with myself. I can make this happen.
Or not. I wake up on Monday morning and it hits me. The Emperor's birthday was yesterday. A Sunday. That makes this a holiday as well. I run to my laptop. They have to be open. I find my local post office branch and look at their hours. "Not open on holidays." No. No, no, no!
I resolve to make this work. I breathe.
The preschool is closed today. That means I can't reach the principal. No problem. I call a friend in town who is surely to have her number. I make the call, reach my friend, and trying not to sound frantic tell him the situation. Five minutes later, the principal calls and I explain again.
"I can send it overnight, right? If I FedEx it?" Is FedEx open on national holidays? I fight the urge to panic.
"I think so," and I hear her conferring with her husband in the background.
"Or, I can just tell Daisuke Santa's running a bit behind because he was busy."
"No, I don't want that. Santa's supposed to be organized." I skip the "unlike me" part.
"Can you call someone in Daisuke's family and tell him the letter is in the mail?"
I choose my words carefully because it was made very clear to the three of us who received special gifts on that day that Daisuke's gift was extra special.
"He came from Rikuzentakata," the principal tells us later. "He's had it hard. He lost so much in the tsunami."
I don't ask what this means. Did he lose him home? His family? I want him to know Santa's letter will arrive, but I don't know who in his family the principal can contact.
"I can take care of that. I'll call his mother" the principal reassures me. I feel better. At least his mother is around.
"I'll run down to my local Seven Eleven and see what I can do."
It worked. Santa's letter to Daisuke will arrive tomorrow. The 740 yen I spent to make sure this boy gets a thank you card from Santa Claus is the best money I've spent in a long time. I can exhale again, deeply. Merry Christmas, Daisuke.
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