Nothing is Black and White (Creative Response/Short Story)

   People walked through the wide halls of the mall zigzagging in and out of the stores. Conversations blurred as they intertwined with the fall of the fountain, standing peaceful and calm, water blew up in celebration. People stopped to look when a man yelled, “Ho ho ho.”

   A little boy noticed the man and tugged the hand of his companion. He passed the Asian boy playing Bach on the violin to stand right in before the man, and then pulled the man’s flimsy red coat. The man in the red coat looked down. When the little boy looked up at him, he saw a brown young man with a white beard on his chin.

   “You’re not Santa,” the little boy said.

   The man smiled and his dark eyes twinkled. “Yeah, and how do you know, little bro?”

   “Because you’re not fat, and your uniforms all wrong.” The little boy smirked. “Your skins really dark. Santa lives in the North Pole.”

   Groups of boys and girls from the nearby school strode around the grand fountain, their arms swinging in unison. Their sneakers slapped the concrete in time to the towns clock ticking. As they strut passed the man in the red coat, they looked at him, then proceeded on their way snorting.

   The little boy had pulled up his white shirt and pointed at his belly. "See? Santa's more like this."

   “And why do I have to be white to be Santa Claus, bro?” The man bent down on one knee. “Just because I’m Polynesian doesn’t mean I don’t get to be jolly and generous.”

   The little boy looked at him frowning, “I guess not. But at church and at the parade he is. And my brother said he's pale because he stays inside his factory and it's dark at the top of the world most of the time.”

   The little boys' hands flew with wide gestures hoping his action would show what the North Pole looked like, and where it was.

   “Little bro, maybe all people are white, maybe not. Maybe you’re just looking at the world wrong. But then I hear we originated from Africa. So that makes us black too. Don’t you know Jesus was neither black nor white?” The young Polynesian raised an eyebrow. “Everyone’s different but the same.”

   “Even so, don’t you have to be like him to be Saint Nicholas?” The little boy folded his arms and tilted his head.

   The little boys forgotten companion shuffled on his feet. He swing his light hair around, it's long strands whipping up a cool breeze. His eyes crinkled as he watched the little boy wave his hands about in exaggerated moves. People would surely think he was telling a tall tale. 

   The little boys companion sighed, the suns rays shining bright onto his face as well as being reflected from the white tiles decorating the shopping square.

   The companion continued watching the boys arms go from wild to silent stillness.

   “If Christmas isn't about presents, but Jesus. Then dressing up as Santa isn't about being Santa, but being generous and bringing joy to others.” The man adjusted his coat. “Colour doesn't define what you can and can’t do. Think about that, huh?”

   The man stood while the little boy walked back to his older brother who said. “Don’t listen to that brown fella. He doesn't understand our religion.”

   The man stood up straight, adjusted his thin red coat and looked around him for a second, then returned to his jolly state.

   The boy looked up at his brother and said, "Nothing's black and white in this world."

   He was pulled away as the Polynesian man winked at a trio of ladies.

   “Ho ho ho.”

   Note;

   This is in response to the idea that Grace Taylor brought up in her spoken poem, Navigating Spaces.

   The idea that people should look past colour and see people for who they are and not what they are, via; colour, culture, ethnicity, etc. 

   The idea that we are all the same in some respects, but different as everyone is unique in their own way.

   

   Even if you're not Santa, his legacy of generosity lives on. It doesn't matter what colour you are, you can be a part of someone's legacy. Like being Christian and a part of Jesus.