St. Nick Reboot

Now that we have jumped head first into the Christmas season, there is a lot of talk about Santa Claus' alias - St. Nick. Growing up Byzantine Catholic, looking at ornate icons of the saints during liturgy each Sunday, I could never quite understand how the man we know as Santa evolved from St. Nick but as long as there were presents involved, who was I to question it.

St. Nicholas Day (December 6) was celebrated each year when I was little by putting our shoes by the door the night before in hopes of receiving small treats and money. There was nothing extravagant about St. Nick Day but I remember fondly the chocolates, coins and sometimes dollar bills that would be waiting in the morning. (Tradition has it that St. Nicholas once secretly threw bags of dowry money into the window of a poor family to save the daughters from being sold into slavery which morphed into the shoe custom of today.)

As a young girl I attended a Catholic school in McKeesport which was named for St. Nicholas. December 6 was celebrated first by going to liturgy, then special lunch in the cafeteria with a visit by the saint himself. I am not sure who had the honor of dressing up in the bishop's vestments (appropriate for Nicholas who during his lifetime served as a bishop in a town in Turkey) but once he arrived we would stand and sing the Hymn to St. Nicholas in both English and Church Slavonic. 

I was a painfully shy child and I did not like it very much when I was called to "perform" in front of people. Once I began piano lessons, I became the reluctant Liberace whenever someone came to visit. "Kris, play that new one you just learned. You know that one I like with the da-da-da and bab-bab-baaa." Yes, my parents were proud just to hear me play but I was so nervous I could hardly read the notes. I tried to get through as quickly as possible so I could be done. 

One day when I was six we went to visit my grandpap Nick in the nursing home and I was once again called to perform. This time I was asked to sing the Church Slavonic version of the St. Nick hymn. Obviously, I did not want to do this. I could muster my way ok enough through the English but seriously, another language? Plus, my grandfather was suffering with Alzheimer's disease and did not recognize anyone in the room that day. Not my mom, not his wife and certainly not me. 'So why did I have to sing,' I thought?

I did not want to disappoint my mom even though I was troubled by selfish thoughts. It did not occur to me at the time how painful it must have been for her to be there with her father who was not present - or so I thought. 

I began singing and after the first few words, I had accompaniment. My grandfather joined me without missing a beat. He did not remember his family but he remembered the words to a song he probably sang countless times on his name saint's feast day. As you can imagine the tears flowed freely from the eyes of my mother and her mother, once again catching a glimpse of the man they knew. 

At the tender age of six, I was not able to fully comprehend the moment and could only wonder why these ladies, who had asked me to sing in the first place, were now obviously upset. Six-year-olds do not know how to recognize tears of joy.

Now decades after that beautiful memory, I have my own Nicholas, named after his great-grandfather. He has a special meal each year on his feast day and even though he is in his twenties, he did engage with me this week when I asked him what he would like us to prepare. And yes, he and his brother put out their shoes last night.

At church on Sunday I will hear the words that gave my grandfather a voice in the silence of his disease. Centuries ago, St. Nicholas may have secretly brought gifts of money to the poor but in the 80's he gave my family the sweetest gift when two unlikely voices joined in his name, bringing joy to our world that Christmas season.