For goodness sake

He sees you when you’re sleepin’
He knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake

“Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town”

It is December. The month when small children try their hardest to be the kind of people elves don’t have to fudge the truth about. December is the month to stop spitting and hitting. The month to speak more, and whine less. The month to eat your peas and mind your P’s and Q’s.

Every child knows that on the first day of December, the clock starts ticking toward Christmas morning. For generations, parents used the threat that Santa’s elves were watching to get kids to shape up. A few years ago, some very clever marketing gurus capitalized on this legend and convinced a new generation of parents that a creepy, long-legged elf in a green, felt, jumpsuit was just the ticket to keep their sweet Beasties in line.

How does the elf accomplish this, you ask? Well, The elf never sleeps. Like, ever.

There were no elves on any shelves when I was a kid. Thanks to my Scandinavian grandmother, the kids in our family had something far creepier than that. The Julbocken, or Yule goat. From what I’ve learned through the magic of the Google machine, the origins of the Julbocken go back to ancient pagan festivals and the Norse god Thor, who rode a chariot through the sky drawn by two goats. Later, in Scandinavian lore, the Julbock was depicted as a human-like goat figure with horns and hooves, said to represent the devil, ensuring that people deserved their presents. This version of the Julbock was altered into a scary prankster who caused trouble and demanded gifts. Eventually, thanks to Christianity, this legend was replaced by a kinder, gentler, more Church-y version. Ultimately, the malevolent devil goats were replaced with small white-bearded Gnomes and smiling Tomtes that kept tabs during the holiday season.

When we were growing up, my siblings, cousins, and I did not know precisely what a Julbocken was. What our grandmother lacked in specificity, she more than made up for in enthusiasm as she described in lurid detail the chaos the creature was capable of creating. This is because, she would say, the Julbocken was very clever and mean. It could trick children into getting in trouble. If we fought, she’d glare and tell us the Julbocken was watching us. When the cookies burned, she’d blame the Julbocken. If someone slipped on the ice, the Julbocken had pushed them. Stomach flu the week before Christmas? All the Julbocken’s fault. During the rest of the year, it was our grandfather who was the storyteller of the family. In December, it was our grandmother who wove fantastic tales that kept her seven grandchildren on their toes.

And so, as far as I’m concerned, even if parents today have to keep moving that dumb little elf around when their kids are asleep to keep the story alive, at least the children of today don’t have to worry about things like weird Scandinavian devil goats messing up Christmas for them.

And if you are a toy marketer, I’d suggest steering clear of a Julbocken on a Shelf. I don’t think it will be a big seller.

Unless, of course, you are marketing specifically to Scandinavian grandmothers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 Glitter and glue…

Our Christmas tree is up. It is not as tall as it looked in the lot. And one side of it is a little sparse in the branch department. That side is shoved in the corner. It is a balsam with a really bad haircut.  We live in the Land of Trees, for heaven’s sake. There are lovely, naturally shaped balsams growing like weeds all over the Chippewa National Forest. All one needs to do is buy a permit, drive to the forest, and cut down a tree. Bam. At least, that is how it should go if one does not want a tree that has been sheared to within an inch of its life. If one prefers a tree with, say, actual branches.

It is the end of the semester, and if I didn’t have to do All The Other Things, that is the kind of tree that would be in our family room right now.  Instead, we are making do with the one we have. I will say that it looks better now that it is decorated. Lights help. So does lowering one’s Christmas tree expectations. I’m working on this.

Anyway, the construction paper ornaments my kids made years ago are still my favorites. I hang them first every year.  And when I do,  I remember the brave warriors who taught both of my children.  This is mainly due to glitter. As far as I’m concerned, elementary school teachers don’t get nearly the credit they deserve for things like welcoming glitter into their classrooms. And then (here’s the most amazing part) they also allow glue.  Elementary school teachers are some of the bravest people I know.  I can’t begin to calculate the staggering amount of glitter the average elementary school teacher sweeps up every December. Not having to sweep up glitter is one of the main reasons I teach college. I do not have the nerves required for such things as glitter and glue and the children of other people. I just don’t. So God Bless elementary school teachers.  Can I get an Amen?

But back to our tree. This year, a little girl’s traced hand print reindeer hangs near her college graduation tassle and a small boy’s glitter-bombed something hangs on the branch next to his. Sweet, cherished mementos of who they were then, and who they grew up to be.

All hung with love, on my perfectly imperfect tree.