Good question and there really isn’t an easy answer.
More often than not, holidays were spent with just my Mom, Dad, brother and I, so we really weren’t a big “holiday” family. My Dad’s family was particularly distant at that time – there is a significant age difference (over 20 years in some cases) between most of my cousins and my brother and I – and our relationship with Mom’s sister was on-again-off-again throughout my childhood.
Yes we had our traditions – lighting the Advent Wreath, Advent Calendars, attending the Midnight Eucharist Service on Christmas Eve, going to The Old Mill for Christmas dinner – but more often than not, that was the extent of things.
I think I went for photos with Santa once at the Ontario Hydro family holiday party, and my Aunt took me to see the Toronto Santa Claus Parade once. But there wasn’t a lot of hoopla for the most part.
In High School, our family stopped giving presents all together and went to Walt Disney World during the holidays (back before such a trip would require a mortgage). Once again, it was just the four of us and we’d attend the Christmas Parade, have a quiet dinner somewhere, and then spend time doing what families do at Disney (riding rides and trying to avoid meltdowns).
As my brother and I continued to get older, Mom and Dad would often head to Arizona where they would spend time in Scottsdale and Stephen would be with his family and I would be…working and holding down the fort.
It was one such Christmas season in University when adult Myke had his first “Santa Magic” experience – I was walking from school to the commuter train, through the Toronto Underground PATH. Not feeling the season. Mom and Dad had departed for Scottsdale, I was working at the catering company and had a really nuts school schedule. I was also in the process of healing myself from what I deemed to be a “failed attempt” at conversion therapy and honestly teetering towards suicidal ideation.
I was walking through the Hudson Bay Company basement, clearly not feeling the Christmas Spirit when a jolly voice spoke up.
“Are you okay young man?” I looked up and saw “Santa” as he was heading towards the set and his throne.
“Honestly…no…no I’m not.”
“I can see that in you, young man, and just remember that there is someone who loves you and hopes you can find YOUR Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you…..Santa?!?”
He let fly with a chuckle that dissolved into a gentle “ho ho ho..” followed by a genuine hug. This was the kind of hug where there were only two people in the universe at that time – Santa and I. It was the kind of hug where I knew that, even though it felt initially awkward – an adult being hugged by Santa Claus in a shopping mall – that it was also right and necessary and needed and perfect.
I blinked back tears and continued onward to the train. I held my shit together on the way home, where I knew I could cry the way I needed to – an ugly, blubbering snot laden cry. But I honestly felt better and knew that I would be okay, despite everything that was going on in my life.
The next day, I made it a point to go thank Santa – but it was a different person and not the same one who hugged me – I thanked him nonetheless, although I suspect he was utterly confused.
I somehow made it through that holiday season and wrote the Hudson’s Bay Company to thank them for that particular Santa. I never heard back from them, but I hope that portrayer got my thank you note.
When Larry announced that he wanted to don the red suit, I remembered the sensation of divine connection that I had in December 1995 and supported his dream. I helped him pay his tuition and hotel expenses so he could attend Charles W. Howard and helped convince Mom and Dad to drive him there.
When I watched Larry work, I saw brief moments of connection similar to the one that saved my life in 1995 and I knew Larry was on the right track. When Larry died, I gave away much of his Santa stuff and tucked some of the personal items into a drawer where it lay, out of sight and out of mind.
In 2015, I was invited to attend Clowns of America International’s convention in Erie, Pennsylvania by David Bartlett. I had walked away from clowning when Larry was first diagnosed with cancer, so I could spend time ensuring he was cared for. When he became Santa, I was the “office elf” and made sure his gigs, billing and paperwork was in order. When I arrived at the hotel, I went to the dealer’s room and, knowing David’s organizational skills, found his table to stow my stuff until I could find him.
As I began walking towards the door, a familiar voice bellowed across the room “Myke Hutchings, you don’t think you can get out of this room without a hug from Santy Claus!” and Leon McBryde bound across the room and Santa picked me up in a bear hug – people who know Leon, knows that the big man is not exactly light on his feet. He whispered in my ear “I know it’s been hard for you since Larry died, he meant a lot to many of us.”
Once again, I felt that sensation of connection and spirit. I was beginning to understand how an act of kindness in the form of the man in the red suit can become something a little more than what it originally seems.
But in 2015, I was still not ready. I had been through two periods of suicidal ideation, had scuttled most of my musical activities outside of choir and focused on trying to heal a broken heart, broken mind and broken spirit. It was a time of spiritual study, psychological support and a lot of shadow work.
During all of this time, I helped start and manage a choir, I ran the remnants of Larry’s charity, eventually shutting it down when it was clear there was nobody willing to help the “Santas Bob” (Boyter and Garvin) and I, and wrote and recorded an album’s worth of “sad and angry boy” music.
I began consulting as a gay survivor of abuse in the Christian church; speaking, advising and advocating on behalf of the community.
It was at a Presbyterian Church event where fellow clown and dear friend David Milmine sat beside me, and whispered in my ear “I want you to be Santa’s elf.”
“What?”
“I’m doing bigger events each year and want a partner to work with. I want you to be that partner.”
“Let me think about it.”
That year, David as Santa showed up at my house after performing at a Christmas party. I already had another friend in the form of Hunky Dorey the Clown there, so we chatted a while while they rehydrated after long events before heading home. As he got up, David said “I’m thinking you need a reminder of something.” and then Santa hugged me.
Once more that feeling of connection, of spirit, of magick. Perhaps that was the feeling of my heart growing three sizes bigger, but that was the moment that the idea Phineus was born. “I’ll be your elf, but I’m doing it on my terms.”
“I’d expect nothing less. Merry Christmas.”
“Love you brother. Love you Santa.”
That began the year-long workshop of Phineus, including the early stages of his back story…but I’ll save that for another time.
There’s a saying that goes: Someday someone will hug you long enough and hard enough that all your broken pieces will stick back together.
It took an immortal saint multiple times, aided and abetted by three of his human avatars; ably assisted and supported by the Reverends Beyerl.
Thank you Santa. I love you.
mykesworld 