Nolo Contendere

Sometimes, folks take a look at me and suggest, “Hey, you should play Santa Claus at Christmas.”

I usually respond with a smirk and something smart-alecky like, “Hey, the last thing I want is to sit around in a mall all day holding other people’s children on my lap.”

A little boy in a truck stop restaurant once looked up at me and asked, “Are you Santa?” I said, “No, but I know him.”

Ah the Santa myth. There was, we think, really a man who gifted the poor and cared for children. We call him Saint Nicholas, abbreviated in our clumsy language to “Santa Claus.”

It is a tragic, ill-conceived, damaging, stupid, disgusting thing to do to a child. We present the very young with this myth – and then they’re on their own. We wait for them to “find out” that it’s a myth. At age 3, they have to learn the art of debunking. It’s cruel.

About the same time in their young lives, we begin presenting them with the Gospel Truth and expect them to believe it without question. But they’ve already got a history with us. They remember that the Santa thing was a lie, a bald-faced lie. Mommy and Daddy and Grampa and Gramma lied. Why would they not think the Jesus thing is a lie? Or at least, be understandably skeptical?

Santa is far from the only lie we tell our own children. Consider the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Mickey Mouse, Snow White, the Talking Lion who lives in Narnia, The Denver Broncos. All of this is unadulterated horse pucky, but we expect the kids to figure it out on their own.

Meanwhile, children ache for something in which to believe. They want the structure, the explanation, the reasons. They’re searching for reality and we give them Barney the Pink Dinosaur.

It’s beginning to look like I have legitimate reasons to avoid playing Santa.

My dad did it though. He brought gifts to the Camenga family in Fort Lupton, dressed himself in the fake beard and red suit. But the Camenga children busted him when they recognized his car.

Even though I wouldn’t have to wear a fake beard, even though I wouldn’t have to wear a pillow under my red suit, it gives me the urge to hurl, just thinking about doing that.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Oh brother. Think of the porno movie one could make with that theme. On second thought, don’t think about that.

Time

A popular folk tale concerns the Indian who was cold at night because his blanket was too short. As you will recall, he cut off the bottom of his blanket and sewed it on the top. This is exactly what Daylight Savings Time does.

It’s reported the state legislature is planning to discuss Daylight Savings Time – keep it in, throw it out. We hope the legislature throws it out, but a simple solution like this is unlikely from any state legislature.

I was there when we first had DST. The specious explanation at the time was that the War Effort would be helped somehow if we all changed our clocks twice a year.

This was a lie then and it’s a lie now. It’s a lot like the Santa Claus fabrication. You cannot “save daylight” by changing the reading on your clock or wristwatch. Daylight isn’t adaptable to a savings account. The timing of the earth and the sun aren’t adjustable – by us, anyway.

What’s really involved is one of those clever gimmicks with which we are faced – law resulting in confusion. The gummint wants us to be confused, and forever changing the clocks around is one way the bureaucracy accomplishes this.

Spring ahead/Fall back. Again, unadulterated horse pucky. Have you ever been early for church? Have you ever been late for church? Was it due to your confusion over DST? Quite likely.

In our world market, it would make sense for all of us on the planet to set our clocks the same. The leather supplier in California would say, “Yes, I’ll ship that out at 3 today.” Three my time, or three your time? No problem. But this would be too easy.

We’d run into a problem with the calendar. But we could adjust that too. It’s the same day everywhere, it’s just dark some places and light other places.

Time. Precious time. Quality time. Remaining time. Time out of time. Time out. Time clock. Nap time.

Here’s one you probably haven’t heard of: Sundowner Time.

See, Sundowners are members of a motorcycle club based in Utah. We know some of them. They sometimes invite us to social events. Sometimes we have gone to Sundowner parties – but we have had a difficulty.

Sundowner Time. If we get there when we were told the party would begin, we’re early. If we go away for a couple of hours and return, we’re too late. The party’s over. Sundowner Time. It’s hard to tell whether members of the club understand Sundowner Time – or if they’re mystified as are we.

Then there’s Indian Time. It has some similarities to Sundowner Time, but it’s different somehow.

Indians I have known – and there have been quite a few – don’t really wear watches or worry about clocks. Or foolishly modify their blankets.

One might be told to meet a group of people at the tribal office at 10 a.m. No one shows. Come back at 11. No one there. Hang around for 20 minutes and here they come, from all parts of the reservation, arriving pretty nearly simultaneously.

Indian Time. It’s a cultural schism. I’m working on a deadline and so is the Indian, but we have a different view of time. My time is important to me. The Indian’s time is important to him. They’re not the same Time. I prefer the Indian way in this, but it isn’t practical in the white man’s world, which is after all where I live.

Ideas

Perhaps the legislature will consider the idea of lengthening the hour itself. Or shortening it. For myself, I need an hour that’s got about 90 minutes in it. Don’t you? Then, to improve on this, we’d make it law that there will henceforth be 30 hours in a day.

This could really help the economy. People on hourly wage would still get paid the same, they’d just have to work longer in “real time.” Or Indian Time. Or Sundowner Time.

Yeah right. And I believe in Santa, too.

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Words of the week: Nolo contendere. In Latin, pretty obviously, this one means “I do not wish to contend this.” In law, it is a plea by a defendant in a criminal case declaring that he will not make a defense – but won’t have to admit guilt. I like that idea.