That horse-fearing Sinterklaas is my Dad!

‘During my childhood I lived in Hollandscheveld, which is a small village in Drenthe. Every year Sinterklaas would visit our town, and I always experienced this as a magical time. But the magic had a particular flavor for me because my father was the town’s official Sinterklaas. Traditionally, Sinterklaas rides a white horse, but since my father is absolutely terrified of riding one, every year a horse-drawn carriage drove him around, while Zwarte Pieten handed out candy. The ride through town would end at the canteen of the local soccer club where Sinterklaas would sit behind a large table with his book filled with all the necessary information about the children’s good or bad behavior. Knowing that my father was Sinterklaas, parents would always send him letters filled with funny anecdotes about their children’s antics. He would write all these stories into his book and then amaze the children with his inside knowledge. My father retired from his role as Sinterklaas in 2002, but he still has this precious book. It is filled with over twenty-five years of history about the children of the town, and even some of these children’s children! There is one Sinterklaas celebration that I remember very well. I was four years old and sick on the couch, crying because I was missing out on seeing Sinterklaas. Meanwhile my father, as Sinterklaas, had a friend drive him to our house so he could visit me. Not knowing that it was my father, I was completely startled. I found it amazing that Sinterklaas knew that I was home sick and that he had actually missed me. I was very intimidated by this wise man and did not dare come too close to him. So astonished, I did not even notice my mother running upstairs to retrieve one of the Sinterklaas gifts, hand it to Zwarte Piet, who handed it to Sinterklaas to give to me. But then again, the magic of Sinterklaas was always so amazing that these ordinary things slipped my attention. It wasn’t until after my parents let me in on the secret that I started to realize that I had missed many clues. For instance, I never noticed that Sinterklaas always wore the same shoes, watch, and glasses as my father, and spoke with the same warm voice. Also, I never seemed to wonder why Dad always had other obligations and could never join me and my mother on St. Nicholas Eve. And at night, after we all returned home, I had never noticed the pasty glue that had stuck to his eyebrows and moustache, and the big dent running across his forehead from wearing his mitre all day. Even after I knew the truth, the magic never died. I still loved to visit the Sinterklaas parade in town. I would stand in the crowd and secretly laugh at the anxious look in Sinterklaas’s eyes as he cautiously shifted to the other side of the carriage whenever one of the horses made an abrupt movement. But most of all, I loved watching him evoke the childrens’ wonder in the magic of Sinterklaas.’ Vanessa Okken, 28, Marketing Communication and Consumer Psychology