Living in Southern Japan, I knew that my Christmas's wouldn't be white, but on this Christmas Day in 1990, the occasion was marked by some precipitation--of sorts. For as Mr. Fujimoto and I drove up to Sakaematsu Preschool, suspicious-looking small, dark low-lying clouds began drifting overhead, and small black particles began settling on the windshield. Mt. Sakurajima, one hundred miles to the west of us, had obviously had a bigger than usual belch on Christmas Eve.

Well, a Black Sooty Christmas was better than nothing.

I was clad in a Santa Claus suit, as was Mr. Fujimoto. He was the city hall director of the preschools, and he had asked me to help out by playing Santa. We had visited two other preschools earlier in the week, but since Christmas isn't a national holiday, we got to visit three preschool on The Day. When I had informed my own office of my new role, the general concensus was that I fit the part perfectly--rosy cheeks, big, and best of all, foreign! Ho ho ho.

Mr. Fujimoto and I made an interesting pair of Santas. I was 5-foot eleven, and he was maybe 5-foot three with his red Santa cap on. And I had already ascertained that the Santa suits owned by the preschools were fashioned to fit someone more his size than mine; after transforming myself into the jolly old elf, I had used a mirror to get my cotton beard and eyebrows on straight, and had also gotten an unwanted peek of how the rest of me looked in red with white trimming. Kind of like a bright red grape ready to burst. The pants stopped above my ankles, and fit snugger than ---------- There wasn't even room between my shirt and my gut to fit in my small "Fwuffy Pillow." I didn't take the time to try to decide whether that was because the shirt was too small, or I was too big.

As Fujimoto stopped the "matchbox" van behind the main building, one of the daycare ladies came out and signaled that the coast was clear. We jumped out of the van and scampered in the back door. We didn't want to psychologically scar any kids.

I slipped off my shoes and was directed to a small tatami mat room. The kerosene heater in the corner was keeping the air warm, but the tatami felt cold under my stocking feet. It may not snow in Nango, but its uninsulated buildings let you feel what cold there is quite n'ice-ly.

WIth the seams in my bright red pants straining, I didn't dare sit cross-legged, so I slowly lowered myself down on my knees. One of the kitchen ladies served us some rice crackers and tea. Never having visited this preschool, I had to--for the umpteenth-millionth time--explain that I didn't drink tea, and would be ever so grateful if I could just get a big glassful of delicious Nango tap water, please. She rushed out to get a glass of tap. Over the next few minutes, all the cooks took turns peeking in and making similar comments on how realistic a Santa I was with my cute red cheeks and hulking body. Ho ho.

From the second floor came sounds of little kids creating a ruckus and occasionally singing Christmas songs. The director came down to greet us and to say it was almost time for us to make an appearance. I used the small mirror to touch-up my cotton eyebrows.

Upon leaving the tatami room, there were two pairs of tiny slippers waiting for us. I stuck my toes in as far as they would go, then kind of slid my way down the corridor so they wouldn't come off. Going up the stairs, I only had one slipper come off, which should point to the amount of concentration I was applying to keeping them on.

The sounds of kids became louder and louder as we proceeded up the stairs, and we were soon outside the main room. The kids started singing a certain Christmas song, which was our cue to ring the bells in our hands and enter the room. Mr. Fujimoto kindly motioned for me to be first into the breach, and as we started ringing our bells, the song came to an abrupt end as the kids put all their energy into looking for the source of the bells.

Ringing my bells and cheerily projecting a throaty "HO HO HO," I walked into the room. Sixty wide-eyed kids stared with gaping mouths. I had never visited this preschool, so it wasn't hard for me to figure out that the kids thought I must be the real thing. Not only was I the biggest Santa they had ever seen, I was a fair-skinned blue-eyed one!

A loud chord on the piano snapped the kids out of their stupor, and we all got in a big circle to do the "Santa Dance."

I was paired with a little girl whose eyes were about ten times bigger than usual--even with her Coke-bottle glasses--as she stared up at my smiling, HO-HO-HO-ing face. But she obviously had nerves of steel, and as we started to dance, I think she, along with the rest of the kids (at least the kids who were old enough to have coherent thoughts) wondered why the big Santa was having so much trouble with the "Santa Dance" that I, Santa, had presumably invented.

Following along as best I could, I shot a quick glance over at Mr. Fujimoto. He was having the same problem, but then again, the kids weren't looking at him too much anyway. They obviously took him for my elven helper.

For the next fifteen minutes we sang songs and did another dance. Then came question and answer time. They were the universal questions asked of Santa. "Where are your tonakai (reindeer) and sori (sleigh) parked?" [out back]; "How cold is it at the Hokkyoku (North Pole)?" [verrrry, verrrrrrrry cold]; and "How is ol' Rudolph doing?" [he is GENKI, GENKI!]. Having visited those two other preschools, I had memorized the Japanese "Santa words," so this was old hat!

But with all this exertion in this kerosene-heated room, I was now sweating heavily, and we now had to do the heavy work--hand out presents to each of the kids.

As I reached into my bag and handed the pre-wrapped present packs downward to the eagerly grabbing kids, the combined effects of gravity and sweat combined to loosen the tape holding my white eyebrows and moustache in place. With one hand I handed out presents, and with the other kept pressing my cotton facial hair back into place.

After I handed each child a present, one of the daycare ladies doing the rounds with me made sure each child told me thank you. That was a nice touch!

After another song, my elf and I prepared to take our leave, but so many kids wanted to shake our hands that we had to do the rounds. Even most of the two-year-olds stuck out their tiny hands. Waving goodbye from the doorway one last time, we made our exit, went back down the stairs and into the tatami room for a light lunch--a bigger version of what the kids were getting--of spaghetti, salad, and riceballs. Though not my ideal vision of a Christmas Day lunch, it wasn't half bad.

And I only had two more preschools to visit today! I pulled out my roll of scotch tape, and began reshaping and retaping my eyebrows, and then we ran out to the van. The windshield wipers nicely cleared off the volcanic ash as we headed to the next preschool.

* * * *

I was to play Santa at preschools every Christmas in Nango, but perhaps the funnest one was the last time--the Santa Party of 1992 at Meitsu Preschool.

I had visited this particular preschool almost every week for a year and a half, the kids knew me very well. And as such, many of the five-year-olds knew who had played Santa the last two years. This was due not so much to any poor portrayal of Santa on my part as much as it was due to my two neighbor kids who attended the preschool, Takahiro and Akihide Yamada. They had both spent quite a bit of time at my house watching Bugs Bunny cartoons, playing Snakes and Ladders, and eating me out of all visible (or poorly hidden) snack food. So, they knew me well enough to tell by my mannerisms and my HO-HO-HOs who Santa was. (Actually the HO-HO-HO was a dead giveaway itself, since Japanese Santas didn't laugh that way, but most kids didn't realize it.) So over the years these two had let the word out to all the other kids. By now Takahiro and his friends were in second grade, but Akihide was in his final year at the preschool, so trying to fool the kids--or at least leave them in doubt--this last time would be a formidable task.

For some reason, Santa Day was set on a Wednesday. Now, every Wednesday I visited the preschool, so it was rather bad luck for me. I would have to play with the kids all morning, eat lunch with them, leave, then sneak back for the finale.

For some reason, Christmas was on the minds of the kids that day, and the older ones all pestered me, asking if I was going to be Santa again this year. I feigned surprise that they would even dare think that the Santa of previous years had been anything but the real thing, but they just rolled their eyes and gave me the "Yeah, right." look as only a kid can do. No, I finally admitted, I wouldn't even get to be there today to see Santa, since I had a meeting at city hall I had to attend. I put on a pouty face and told them to say Howdy for me.

After a full and tiring morning of play and lunch with the older kids, I made a big show of going to each of the rooms to tell the kids goodbye--and to let everyone know that I was actually leaving. Mrs. Yamashita also let a couple kids come out and wave goodbye as I left--they would be additional witnesses to my departure.

I drove out of the lot, went around the block, then pulled in again, parking behind the building, where one of the cooks had left the door unlocked. The Santa suit was already in the prep room, but I brought along some extra equipment--red pants that fit, lots of cotton, different socks, and white gloves.

And I began my transformation.

Putting on my red cap, I tore off gobs of cotton and stuffed them under it to cover every inch of my hair. Next I put on my beard, taping cotton to it and, after putting it on, melding it into the cotton coming out of the cap.

About this time, Mrs. Y came in to tell me the latest. Little Hideko had whispered to her that all the kids were going to be looking to see if Santa had on a watch like Mr. Floyd's watch, which would let them know if it were really me under the costume. I quickly slipped off my watch, once again amazed at how smart these kids could be. I added even more cotton to cover up my face.

Putting on the red shirt, I was relieved to note the sleeves actually came all the way down to my wrists. My hairy forearms would have been a dead giveaway--there was not one kid in this preschool who had not petted them at one time or another. The white gloves would cover the rest my arm hair.

For my piece-de-resistance, I changed my white socks for gray ones, just in case any of the kids had been thinking of using that as a way to tell if it was their beloved (but oh-so-tricky!) Mr. Floyd.

I left my eyebrows and moustache till the very end, since the tape always seemed to lose its tackiness with sweat. At the three-minute warning, I taped on ample cotton eyebrows and a flowing cotton moustache, grasped one bag of presents in one hand and my bells in the other, and marched out into the hallway to await my cue.

As I (hoarsely to disguise my voice) HO-HO-HO-ed into the big main playroom it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Always one step ahead, Mrs. Y had shrewdly closed the curtains and turned off all the lights to help me pull off my masquerade.

The kids were seated in a big circle, waiting for their presents. Mrs. Y explained to the kids that Santa was really busy today, so he only had time to give out presents, not sing and dance with them.

I started with the toddlers, then began working my way to progressively older kids. Handing out a present to the watch-watching Hideko, I made it easy for her see my bare wrist. The cotton prevented her from seeing my big grin!

Going on to Daichi (one of my pals), he looked hard at my face, then said, half-hesitantly, "Mr Floyd?" I replied, "Ahh, Daichi!" with my best Santa voice, since Santa presumably knows their names! I left Hiroaki, another one of my pals, in about the same condition as Daichi.

I left them and their puzzled faces, and went on to the big test, Akihide. He also gave me the hard once-over, but then grinned and said, much more confidently than Daichi, "Hi Mr. Floyd." I had been pretty sure he could tell, and I wasn't disappointed. As I've always maintained, the kid is smart!

With no other mishaps, I made the rounds, shook hands, then left with a lusty HO-HO-HO MERRY CHRISTMAS!

As I was changing back into my street clothes, Mrs. Y came in to congratulate me, only Akihide had known for sure who it had been, with most of the other older kids swearing it hadn't been Mr. Floyd this year.

Ahh, sweet success!

I went out the back door, a even bigger smile on my face. It was a wonderful Christmas!

© 1993, Louis A. Floyd