Clement Winter knew the wink, the walk, and the “ho-ho-ho” of Santa Claus by heart. After all, he taught at Santa Claus School in Santa Claus, Indiana, for more than three decades. Although he loved his job, lately, he was getting a bit burned out at dealing with the unruly students. There was always one student in the bunch that really got under his skin.
“Alas! How dreary would be the world if there was no Santa Claus!” he said at the start of every September semester. Each fall, he welcomed twelve new students who wanted to improve their holiday-making skills as men in the merry-red coats and hats with white beards. “The greatest thing is not to believe in Santa Claus; it is to be Santa Claus!” he said.
When the applications came through the U.S. mail every spring, they were scrutinized for the best candidates with holiday spirit and merriment.
However, Clement could never be too sure what to expect on the first day of school.
Once in a blue moon, one of the students would not make it to the end of the ten-week class. The curriculum covered all the basics and then some on how to uphold the tradition of Santa Claus. More than any other school in the country, Clement prided himself in graduating the best Santa Clauses in the world. He refused to graduate anyone who wasn’t the best.
Even more, Clement knew that the school was having some financial difficulties and hoped the success of the students helped it stay afloat. Since the board of the school kept telling him that they were about to reach a breaking point, he feared it might be the last year he would teach the class unless things turned around. Otherwise, he would have to call it quits. He considered that he had given Christmas all he had, and the end of Santa Claus School was near. Even if he opened it with his own toil more than 30 years ago, its best days might be finished.
“I really hope we have a jolly year,” he said to his class, as he thought about the stack of mounting bills. As soon as one bill was paid, it seemed like another one popped up.
Studying his new class sitting at their little desks with table arms, he already felt saddened at their lack of enthusiasm. It took a certain amount of gusto and cheer to pull off being a genuine Santa Claus. Not everyone could be “Santa Claus,” and not one of them had on a red suit, and very few of them had white beards. He was so disappointed when he spent energy molding and making new Santa Clauses, and no one appreciated his efforts.
“Noel, Yule, Christian, Frost, Snowden, Kris, Jack, Christopher, Michael, Gabriel, Emmanuel, and Joseph,” Clement said. He checked off each student when they raised their hand. Not one of them responded with a belly chuckle or a “ho-ho-ho.”
It seemed to Clement that there were the slackers—Gabriel, Joseph, Christian, Frost, Emmanuel, and Jack. The nervous overachievers—Kris, Michael, Snowden, and Christopher. Then the zealots—Noel and Yule with their Bible verses and rulebooks.
He watched as a handful of the students shared ledgers of how much money they could make if they kept on track. They clearly signed up only for the holiday paycheck. There was so much more to Christmas than the commercial aspect of it. Previous years, most students had at least come with their own Santa hats and jingle bells.
“The first order of business will be to measure each of you for your own Santa Claus outfit,” Clement said. “So, if you plan on gaining a pound or two, make sure to tell the tailor to let the pants out a bit.”
As Clement looked up from his clipboard, his stomach sank to his toes. He suddenly heard Christian snoring. Then, Emmanuel made a loud burping noise. Meanwhile, Gabriel said a string of curse words at Joseph. They clearly did not have the Christmas spirit. Clement decided to take radical action before it got worse.
“This year we’re running class like Boot Camp,” he said.
Their unshaven faces disgusted him, and he noticed Gabriel hid a Vodka bottle in his bag.
When he looked again, Clement saw Frost picking his nose, and Jack wouldn’t turn off his cell phone and kept taking calls from his various girlfriends.
“This is just capitalism in a hat,” Jack said, as he hung up from the latest phone call.
On the contrary, Noel and Yule read their Bibles and folded their hands in prayer as he spoke, almost ignoring Clement completely. They also like to quote outdated Santa manuals, correcting others about “official” North Pole protocol.
Snowden, Kris, Christopher, and Michael appeared to be the most attentive students and took notes, but they were always nervous and over-rehearsing, triple-checking their lists. They fretted over beard placement and boot shine.
Clement knew that he was going to have to be strict and firm. At least, he was fair.
“You either get yourselves to the classroom by 6 a.m. ready to go, or you’re gone,” he said, as he handed out the curriculum. “If you want to be a Santa, sit up straight. No slouching.”
The group of them shuffled in their seats. At least it was some improvement. They sat with perfect posture, even if they had scowls on their faces.
“Now this is the schedule,” Clement said. “Week One: The History of Santa Claus, Week Two: Dress like Santa, Week Three: Act like Santa, Week Four: Children skills, Week Five: Reindeer skills, Week Six: Mrs. Claus skills, Week Seven: Flying skills, Week Eight: Toy making lessons, Week Nine: Letter-writing skills, Week Ten: True meaning of Christmas.”
The next morning at 6 o’clock sharp, the fledgling Santa student group arrived half-asleep. Most of them had hot black coffee in their hands. Gabriel took a swig of what looked like water, but Clement knew it must be Vodka. He could smell it on Gabriel’s breath.
“Today, I will teach about the life of St. Nicholas,” Clement said. “You will pass a 100-question quiz tomorrow morning or be replaced. So, everyone pay attention!”
After lunch the next day, Clement passed back the quizzes. Many of the students earned 100 percent. He was almost shocked. He must have been getting through to them somehow.
“No one failed the test,” Clement said. “This is a step in the right direction! We need to have the best graduating class of Santa Clauses in the history of this school.”
Before he could say anything else, he sat down in his chair on what must have been the world’s loudest whoopee cushion. It made a long farting noise, and it startled him more than he could put into words. It also smelled like a stink bomb.
“Who did this?” Clement yelled. He pinched his nose shut and turned on the fan. “This is so out of line! Gabriel, was this your idea? I am trying to train you to spread Christmas cheer, and instead you are making a fool of me! Sometimes, I just want to quit.”
“It was just a practical joke,” Gabriel said with slurred speech. He stood up with his small desk with its fold-out writing arm. “I thought you’d find it funny. Even Santa farts!”
“On the contrary, Santa is jolly and kind with perfect manners,” Clement said. “He would never pull a prank like this on someone. I’ll let it go this time, but not again! If we were in elementary school, I would send you to the principal’s office.”
By the end of Week One, Santa Claus School started to look a little more like Christmastime. Some of the students put up Christmas decorations in the classroom or posters from famous holiday films. White twinkling lights blinked across the walls. Clement had long since forgotten the whoopee cushion incident. He went back to singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” all day long with “Jolly Old St. Nicholas.”
As the fall rolled along, each of the students finally received their Santa Claus outfits from the school tailor. Kris was the only person who ripped his pants when he bent over. Those pants were immediately sent to the tailor for mending with extra padding and stitching.
“If you can’t grow out white hair and a beard, then you can always find fake ones to wear that look real,” Clement taught his class. “And remember your tall black boots and red bag!”
The class seemed more enthusiastic than during week one, but Clement still hoped that the students would actually want to be at school. He was trying to train real Santa Clauses, not just certify men who were dead as a doornail to sit in the malls.
“Why do we have to go through all this trouble just to be Santa?” Gabriel asked one afternoon. “I’m named after the angel. That has to count for something.”
“Please be quiet,” Emmanuel said. “We all want to pass and just get out of here.”
And then it happened. Clement sat down in his chair, only to hear the cracking of an egg.
“Gabriel!” Clement yelled. “I can’t believe I have to do this, but you’re expelled. Turn in your outfit and go home.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t do it,” Gabriel said. “You can’t prove it was me. Anyone could have put that egg on your chair when you weren’t looking.”
Clement had never been so angry. He had no way to prove Gabriel put the egg on his chair, and maybe it was one of the other students. He looked at Emmanuel with great suspicion.
“All of you go to your dorms for the night,” Clement said. “We will start again tomorrow. If this happens again, I will fail each and every one of you.”
Clement felt as though he had failed miserably. Thoughts of retirement ran through his mind. Maybe the idea of teaching men to be Santa Claus was just too old fashioned.
As September passed, the men reluctantly learned to sing, talk, dance, and walk like Santa Claus. There was a certain charm to moving like Santa Claus. He exuded kindness but had a large enough heart that anyone with a bad attitude would get put in his place.
“Make eye contact with each child that sits on your knee,” Clement explained in a loud voice. “Speak from your diaphragm, not your throat. Always walk with a spring in your step!”
By the end of the week, Clement had made it through without another incident. He felt relieved. He didn’t want to fail the students. He wanted them to succeed and bless children everywhere, but he would not bear the brunt of nastiness.
“We are very much enjoying the class,” Noel said with Yule. “We’ve been praying for you every morning.”
“Maybe you need to pray harder and tell me next time those jokers try anything funny,” Clement suggested. “I can’t send hooligans into the Santa business.”
“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness,” Yule said to Clement. “It’s a scripture.”
“Wonderful! Why don’t you just write it on the chalkboard for everyone to enjoy,” Clement said. “I don’t think I need any more trials right now. I’m the teacher. You’re the students. You are the ones who need the trials and tribulations.”
“God bless you,” Noel and Yule said, as they made their way to their dorms.
All Clement could think about was being on a beach in the Caribbean with his feet in the sand. Maybe it really was time to pack it in. He decided to muster up the strength to finish the semester anyhow, and then consider what to do next.
Into October, being that children-skills were similar to reindeer-skills: Believe Santa is real, have a lot of cheer, listen first, be tender, and give snacks at crucial times. Clement even taught his students Sign Language for the children who were deaf and wanted to talk to Santa.
These were the weeks that most of the Santa students usually wanted to give up the most, being that none of them was “the real Santa Claus.” Even Clement wasn’t sure that they could convince anyone otherwise, even if they practiced for five more weeks. He had such high hopes for the group despite their misgivings. He even overlooked Joseph shooting spit balls at Gabriel. As long as the spit balls were not shot at Clement, he figured Gabriel might have deserved it.
“During week six, learning how to interact with Mrs. Claus might be the most romantic week of all,” Clement said with a sneeze and then two others in a row. “Hardly anyone has figured out how to interact with Mrs. Claus in a believable way. Try to love her.”
“Gabriel tossed sneezing powder in the air,” Emmanuel blurted out with a sneeze and a snort. The rest of the class started sneezing, too.
“Why am I always getting blamed?” Gabriel said. “You are making up such lies.”
Clement stood in silence not sure what to say. Four more weeks to go, and he was done in his heart. He was seriously considering quitting for good.
As Thanksgiving approached, flying lessons became a bit bumpy in the sleigh, but it was almost like teaching someone to fly a plane. Clement read from the manual and followed the instructions in his lectures. Weeks Eight and Nine were more practical. Making toys and letter-writing had a craft to them which was simple. Week Ten covered the true meaning of Christmas, and Clement liked it most of all. It was the week that he brought children from the local elementary school to visit the Santas for hands on training. Except he kept it a secret and didn’t tell his students.
“You might be the only Santa Claus that anyone ever meets,” Clement said. “Give it your all, especially with the children who believe in Santa Claus. You might be their only Christmas memory.”
Then, he opened the door to take the Santa students into the auditorium to meet the visiting children. As he opened it, a large bucket over the door in the hall dumped water balloons onto his head.
He was instantly soaked.
And for the first time, truly ashamed.
“Why did I even try to teach you to love Christmas?” Clement yelled.
At this point, it seemed like his efforts might have been a lost cause, even if some of the students were better than others. When the school administrator saw the mess, she stood in the hall speechless.
“Tell the students that we won’t be meeting with them today,” Clement told the secretary.
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I’ll ask the janitor to clean up this mess. Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right,” Clement said, as he looked at his classroom. “Just fail them, and I quit.”
“I didn’t know you had children waiting for us!” Gabriel said. “I’m sorry. I’m so dumb. Just fail me. Graduate everyone else. I’m exhausted. I’m definitely not a good enough Santa.”
Clement thought about his younger self—so hopeful, so full of belief. And now here he was soaked, furious, and disillusioned.
But was he more disappointed in Gabriel—or in himself?
“Fine, I will do just that!” Clement said. “If they pass their final exams, they graduate. You, however, are done. Get out!”
“I’m so sorry!” Gabriel said. “I rigged it during break when I went to the bathroom. I’m just so bored sitting here listening to you talk about Christmas for hours and hours on end!”
“I can’t do this anymore, Gabriel. You’ve pushed me too far,” Clement yelled.
Then, Clement picked up one of the water balloons that had not exploded and threw it toward Gabriel. It exploded at his feet.
The next morning eleven of the twelve students gathered to take their final exam. It was an extensive true and false questionnaire that Clement had crafted himself with many tricky questions. He passed out the exams, and then stopped, feeling sorry for blaming the rest of the class for Gabriel’s behavior.
“Santa Claus has always been the hero of children all over the world,” Clement said. “As you know, some children know him by other names, such as St. Nicholas, Sinterklaas, Father Christmas, Julenissen, Grandfather Frost, or Noel Baba. However they know him, and they love him. They love him for being a father to the fatherless. Someone who hears their dreams and wishes when no one else will listen. A kind old soul who has compassion and hope for them when they are overlooked and passed by the rest of the world. Now, pass your test, and go be their hero. Be the one who protects their innocence and fills them with joy.”
Clement turned around to find Gabriel crying in the doorway. Gabriel wiped his eyes and hesitated in the doorway.
“I’m truly sorry,” Gabriel said with a cracking voice. “Could I please have a chance to graduate as well? I told my kids that I would do this for them, and then I just really didn’t want to be here. Please, I beg you. I’ll make you proud. I can’t go home and tell them that I failed.”
“Sir, you are by far the worst student that I have ever had,” Clement said. “You’ve made me want to quit more than once. But seeing you in tears is enough to make me consider giving you an opportunity to at least take the test. If you pass, you can graduate. But don’t you dare cheat by looking at anyone else’s test. I almost want to strip search you before I let you in the room, but I respect myself too much to do that.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gabriel said. “My wife will be so angry if I don’t pass the exam. I studied all night anyhow.”
By the next morning, the twelve Santa students graduated with flying colors. To Clement’s surprise, Gabriel passed the test. True to his word, Clement graduated the rebellious student. He was hopeful that Gabriel would have a full turn-around.
“I will be the best Santa Claus in the whole world,” Gabriel promised Clement. “All because I learned from the best.”
“Flattery is not going to get you anywhere with me,” Clement said. “But I’ll try to take the compliment thinking that you have the best of intentions.”
From the beaming looks on the students’ faces, Clement believed that they must have been ready to meet the children of the world. From elementary schools to the shopping malls, here come the next twelve Santa Clauses that would carry on the tradition of St. Nicholas.
When they started, they might have been an unruly group of want-to-be Santa Clauses looking for a buck at Christmas, but now they wanted more for their friends and family—a very Merry Christmas indeed.
“I send you out as Ambassadors of Goodwill and Generosity,” Clement said. “Be the good in the world, and don’t wait for Christmas!”
Clement looked out at the dozen men in their mismatched boots and fluffy white beards. They stood straighter and laughed louder. Even Gabriel hummed “Jingle Bells.”
“My wife and kids are so proud of me!” Gabriel said. “This will be the best Christmas ever. I promise to spread the yuletide magic for the rest of my life.”
Perhaps Christmas hadn’t been lost after all.
Perhaps it had just been waiting for Clement to believe again.
Then, a little girl tugged Gabriel’s beard and whispered, “I knew you were real.”
Seeing that his efforts were not for nothing, Clement decided to keep his job. What else would he do every season at Christmas anyhow?
In the next few months, Clement was shocked when he found out that the school received a surprise anonymous donor. A former student even offered to fundraise. Clement no longer doubted it—the world still needed Santa Claus School. Maybe now more than ever.
Copyright 2019, 2025 Jennifer Waters
