Tonight millions of little boys and girls will be nestled all snug in their beds as visions of sugar plums dance in their heads. Or else, they will be in bed playing some hideously violent video games, perhaps in between, thinking of the gore which the game they will find tomorrow morning under the Christmas tree contains.
Perhaps parents in “more traditional” homes will read their kids “The Night Before Christmas,” a rather quaint yet enduring poem about a visit from St. Nick originally published in the early 19th century. Certainly the children having “sugar plums” dancing through their head is a quite obsolete reference these days, unless the kids happen to be ripped on some kind of illicit drug.
Great literary works usually are rewarded with a parody sometime along the line. As for our “Night Before Christmas” one might see variations such as this, for Pennsylvania deer hunters, “The PA Deer Hunter’s Night Before Christmas.”
“… I looked out the window across the moonlite snow with glee,
HOLY COW, there was 8 big buck standing underneath the tree.
I grabbed the 30-06 and started the sneak,
because I knew the game wardens were all asleep … “
And in the southeast corner of Texas, adjacent to southern Louisiana, where I live and itself home to a large Cajun population is the “The Cajun Night Before Christmas” complete with a fractured-English-Cajun dialect:
” … Then up through the bayou
Dey got such a clatter
Make soun’ like old Boudreau
Done fall off his ladder … “
Christmas stories are just as large a part of the holiday itself. Take for instance, the story of the Baby Jesus, de t’ing what got it started all. And over the years I have kept a keen eye out for a good Christmas story only to come up empty. That is, until reading a story by a witty writer named David Sedaris. Sedaris was raised in North Carolina, is gay and now resides in France. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. He has written a number of books which are compilations of mostly autobiographical-to-auto-fiction-graphical essays, many of which tales either involve his travels or life with a rather unusual family that includes his sister, comedian Amy Sedaris.
I first read the Christmas story to which I refer in the Dec. 1, 2002, edition of Esquire. The piece is called “Six to Eight Black Men.” It is a tale of Sedaris trying to understand the subtleties of the Dutch version of Santa Claus, who was traditionally accompanied by “six to eight black men.” These black men were originally slaves but modern sensibilities transformed them in more recent times to “just good friends,” albeit with nothing in between. It was teased in Esquire thusly:
‘A heartwarming tale of Christmas in a foreign land where, if you’ve been naughty, SAINT NICK and his friends give you an ass-whuppin.’
So settle back for a glimpse into another country’s version of Santa, have a few chuckles and be glad you’re an American where you might just find yourself in the deep woods staring at a blind deer hunter.
Click here to read: “Six or Eight Black Men,” by David Sedaris
Have a Merry Christmas.
| Den Mama in de fireplace, Done roas’ up de ham Stir up de gumbo, An’ make bake de yam. | |
| Den out on de by-you, Dey got such a clatta, Make soun’ like ole Boudreau, Done fall off his ladder. |
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