Now, FOR REAL

Actually, yesterday was the first time I’ve ever celebrated a real, REAL St. Nicholas Eve. First of all, it was on December 5, and that doesn’t happen very often. Because the Dutch like to move their holidays to whichever day of the week is most convenient. So this one, too.

Second, I now have a 2½-year-old toddler, so this is also the first time it’s been a kids’ party.

For years, I’ve had to convince my in-laws that I want to draw names again this year. In 1998, in ’99, in 2000. Every year, my mother-in-law would sigh and say that this wasn’t really a party for adults at all, and ask if we couldn’t just skip it this time.

That didn’t sound convincing to me.

Wasn’t this a purely Dutch celebration? With all the fuss that goes along with it? With St. Nicholas hats, peppernuts, a real boat, and even a REAL St. Nicholas? I soaked it all in.

After all, I’d never experienced anything like that in my German life before. Here’s how it goes:

On December 6 (so today), you suddenly find something in your shoe in the morning, but that gentleman named Nikolaus is nowhere to be seen the night before (let alone in the weeks leading up to it). A German child can at best guess that this kind gentleman wears a red robe and that his sleigh must have stopped somewhere for a moment. But actually SEE a St. Nicholas? No way—I’ve never run into that kind man before.

That’s because German fairy tales are in books. Dutch ones are just lying around on the street. And on the water.

How else can you explain that an ENTIRE country is capable of fooling every child for a few weeks? Everyone—even the most conscientious reporters, mayors, politicians, or managers—manages to let their childlike imagination prevail, just for a moment, over the down-to-earth and pragmatic view of things they maintain the rest of the year?

And all just to play along with a big real-life St. Nicholas game? With real actors? So real that you’re not even supposed to call them that? Because, of course, he exists—St. Nicholas. After all these years, I no longer doubt that. After all, I’ve seen him many times now.

The only thing I’m still worried about is the presents.

Where am I supposed to put them all?

And how will that affect my child when, every year in early December, he’s standing in front of a mountain of wrapping paper, and less than three weeks later, all the “old” presents are already being traded in for the “new” German Christmas gift sets?

He’s going to turn into a spoiled brat.

But I feel called to preserve valuable traditions, so I have to do it.

The only one who gets the short end of the stick is St. Nicholas. Because that shoe on December 6—I just can’t fit that in too.

Sorry, sir. But then you should have shown your face a little more often.