A CHRISTMAS MEDLEY

Dec 20, 2010 Features / Columnists, Tony Deyal column

---

It is the week before Christmas and I am in the Turks and Caicos Islands on the island of Grand Turk on which is located in the capital of the island chain.  It is named Cockburn which, for reasons of modesty I believe, is pronounced “Coburn” (as in the surname of James, the star of The Magnificent Seven and The Great Escape).
I remember the newspaper headline about a scion of a wealthy family with that surname who married a prominent socialite.  When they left town on their honeymoon, the town’s newspaper ran the unfortunate headline, “Cockburns Off On Wedding Trip”.  I am on a trip but am so very much alone that there is no hope that I would suffer the same fate as the newlyweds.
Needless to say, alone and without my family, and despite the natural charm of these beautiful and hospitable islands, my week here has not been a magnificent seven day and, had I a choice, I too would attempt a great escape back to Antigua where the Christmas Tree is already up and its welcoming light is plainly visible through the front window.  I figure that when I land at the airport, I would see it blinking at me, overwhelmed with the joy of seeing me back home before Christmas Eve.
I am not ashamed to say that I am a Christmas person.  Earlier, as I sat alone in my beachfront room hearing the waves outside crash against the shore, I started to look through my previous Christmas columns seeking solace as well as inspiration for this one.  I found them so revealing of different phases of my life that I decided to make my own Christmas medley.
In 1998, having returned to Trinidad after a long spell in Boston, Washington and Barbados, I remembered an incident that took place in the eighties when I worked for the national sugar company, Caroni Ltd.
That Christmas we decided to have Santa Claus distribute gifts to all the employees’ children.  Not content with a sleigh, or even the traditional ox-cart, a vehicle associated with the early days of King Sugar, we arranged for Santa to arrive by helicopter.  Our Santa was appropriately built and willing to play the part.  He had never been in a helicopter before and had, unfortunately, thought it necessary to imbibe some courage to strengthen his resolve.  He also ate a large Christmas meal.  His lunch and the helicopter were not mutually compatible.
Santa’s complexion changed from black to green and as the helicopter dipped, swooped and landed, to white – whiter even than the cotton beard that was by now wildly askew.  Shaken and shaky he was helped out of the helicopter.  As he stood trembling and queasy, sack on back, almost completely disoriented and trying to get his bearings, he saw in the distance approaching him at speed, a phalanx of parents, screaming wildly, children in tow.
He tried to run, seeking refuge in the helicopter that had already departed -wisely as it turned out.  Within seconds Santa was engulfed by the mob, his sack wrung from his weak hands, emptied and looted.  His beard was also pulled roughly from his face and sundry adults, assisted by their infants, were starting on his clothing.  Fortunately, the police arrived and were able to save him from further indignity. The sack was never found or his beard.
Since 1998, the Christmas season has found me in many different places.  In 2004, I was in Argentina at the annual Climate Change extravaganza where thousands of “experts” from hundreds of countries travelled millions of miles in hundreds of planes burning billions of tons of fossil fuel to save the planet from global warming.
This year they were on the beach in Cancun perhaps trying to decide which was increasing fastest – the rise in sea level or the heat of the sun.  What they found out was that the best platform for these and other experiments in the motion of heavenly bodies is a deck chair or a king-size bed in a room overlooking the Gulf of Mexico.
In 2005, I was in Montreal skating on thin ice.  Fortunately, I wear Size Eleven, Wide-Width shoes and these saved me from grievous bodily harm.  It was the one time I was glad that in the arithmetic of my anatomy, two feet make a yard.
Since then, and until this week, I have tried to be home at Christmas time.  As I wrote many years ago, our home is a place in which Santa still lives and reigns supreme at Christmas time.  I have never been one for political correctness and have no wish of being a rebel without a Claus.  Although Christmas has become so commercial that it can make you claustrophobic, it continues to be special for us.
It is easy to be as cynical as Dick Gregory, the Afro-American comedian, who said, “I never believed in Santa Claus because I knew no white man would be coming into my neighborhood after dark.”  Or Groucho Marx who had a different take on it.  He commented wryly, “I played Santa Claus many times, and if you don’t believe it, check out the divorce settlements awarded my wives.”
It is true that there are three phrases that fill the air at Christmas time, “Peace on Earth”, “Goodwill to all Men” and “Batteries Not Included”.  However, the truly generous are like the Energizer bunny- they keep on giving and giving and giving.
The truly innocent protect us against being cynical and disillusioned.  There was a little boy who had to draw the scene in which an angel appeared to warn Joseph and Mary to escape from danger.  The teacher looked at his rendering and commented, “I see Joseph and Mary with the baby Jesus on a donkey, but what is that following the donkey?”
The boy replied, “The flea.”  “What flea?” asked the teacher. The boy then responded repeating the Bible verse, “Take Mary and Jesus and flea to Egypt.” he said.  “There’s Mary, there’s Jesus, and there’s the flea.”
*  Tony Deyal was last seen saying that he wanted to wanted to have his Christmas lunch in Antigua and not on Grand Turk.  He prefers heartburn to Cockburn.

---

---