Sara Marberry

This photo from 1998 at the Brookfield Zoo during Christmastime is one of several I have of my son Wes sitting on Santa’s lap when he was a little boy. But it’s the only one I have of him with a Black Santa.

Twenty-five years ago, Black Santas were rare – at least in my privileged white world. And while five-year old Wes looks a little uncomfortable in the photo, I think it’s because he was about to fall off Santa’s lap, not because Santa was black.

Wes liked Santa. He didn’t care whether he was white, black, brown, or yellow. Perhaps that was because many of his grade school classmates at Kingsley School in Evanston, IL., were of a different race than him. But I think it’s because at that age, he was too young to have developed any prejudices.

Santa Claus was originally from Turkey, which means he was a man of color. But modern day Santas have usually been portrayed as older white men.

I remember thinking back then, “Wow, that’s a Black Santa.” I’d never seen one either. However, I didn’t say anything to Wes about it.

Today, 29-year-old Wes does not remember the Black Santa. In fact, he doesn’t remember many Santas at all. That doesn’t surprise me. I don’t remember anything about my encounters with Santa as a child. I only cared whether I got the things I wanted. And that’s the real magic of Santa.