Black Santa Wonderland 2024 is a wonder to behold, if I do say so myself.
Ebony Kris Kringles occupy nearly all of the space inside my office. There’s even a little felt red-suited guy perched atop my computer monitor holding an ornament almost as big as he is.
He’s a new addition to my enormous collection, picked out by my grown twin niece and nephew during our recent family vacation. They said he was unique — the only one in the shop, even though these days you can usually spot mass-produced Black Santas in department stores and handmade ones on vendor tables in Christmas markets.
I’ve been collecting Black Santas since my last year of high school. That’s when my dad, mom, sister, and I visited our family friends, the Jacksons, during the holidays.
The first Black Santa I’d ever seen was on the sideboard, tucked into the Christmas decorations. Mrs. Jackson told me she made him. At the end of our visit, she gave him to me and, unbeknownst to her, sparked my lifelong collecting craze.
Since then, I have scouted vintage shops, searched craft artist co-ops, and sleuthed every lead I could to great success. I’m especially proud of the diversity of pieces: With a range of skin tones from mocha to russet and raisin, no two of my Black Santas are alike.
In this era of prequels, it seemed right that this year, the Black Santa decorating my office door is a younger version of the jolly old fellow. The Millennial Santa’s hat sits jauntily on his head with a little contemporary styling. While his eyebrows, mustache, and beard are snow white, his deep mahogany face is without the signature round cheeks, as if he stuck to a Mediterranean diet in the ramp-up to the big ride on Christmas Eve.
But once you cross my office threshold, the Black Santas look more like, shall we say, seasoned Baby Boomer round-belly types. Like the short Black Santa decked out in head-to-toe sumptuous gold fabric covering his storied paunch, his round glasses sitting on his chestnut-colored nose.
I have nearly 300 Black Santas. While conducting an inventory, I dove into boxes I hadn’t opened at all during past Christmases. The rediscovered treasures gave me seasonal warm fuzzies and brought back thrill-of-the-hunt memories, even if I can’t recall essential details. What year did I find the squat Black Santa candle holder carved out of painted metal, his white beard made of tin strips curled just so? And what city was I in when I spotted my hip Black Santa with his silver-gray beard, jazzily posed with his saxophone? I do remember where I bought my triangle-shaped fluffy Santa pillow. He peeks over my shoulder on my desk with the pompom on his hat flipped forward. He’s joined by another fluffy pillow my friend Sandra grabbed for me while shopping in a discount store.
The Blantas — as my colleague Henry Santoro has dubbed them — are cheek by jowl, sitting and standing on the edge of the desk, elevated stairstep style on my file cabinet, and tucked into on my bookshelf.
Standing on the floor, tall Santas — one cinnamon-dusted hand-carved wooden Papa Noel waving hello next to another tall Black Santa in a fancy red coat holding the list.
Which one is my favorite? Without a doubt, it’s the Black Santa who literally climbs! My many visitors are mesmerized watching him take his string of lights up and down the ladder.
Now and then someone will come into my office and sit quietly listening to my holiday music while getting a closer look at the full Black Santa community. My co-workers tell me the display offers an oasis of festive spirit, especially during these tense and uncertain times.
That’s what they’re here for: Putting the merry in the holiday. Here’s wishing you and yours Black Santa Joy.
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