It's hard to believe, but for an old fellow, I sure to get around! If I am to believe what they tell me, I was born a very long time ago in the country you call Turkey. It was near the ancient city of Myra, that I made my home. I was named Nicholas. When I was quite young, my parents died, leaving me to be raised by my uncle. My father as a very successful businessman, and so I was left with a large inheritance.
When the time was right, I was sent to school and was well educated. I became a priest and then a bishop. In fact, the pointy hat I wear today still bears the shape of a bishop's miter!
There are some stories told about me. One tells how I helped a poor man with three daughters. Back then, fathers were expected to give their daughter's husband a sum of money when they married. This poor man had no money and his daughter had fallen in love. So, late one night, I slipped by the window of their house and tossed in a small bag of coins. When they found the coins in the morning, there was great joy in that house! The young woman was able to marry her true love and her poor father was speechless and tried to find out from where the money had come. I returned two more times to that house, making sure that each daughter was able to marry the man she loved.
Children were always important to me. Once, I came upon some children who were in great danger. They had been captured by a very mean person who treated them very badly. I helped set the children free and as they grew they made me very proud of them.
Another story that is told about me is that when I was bishop of Myra, there was a terrible problem. There was very little food for the people of the village. I knew that there were ships on their way to Egypt in the port. I went to the sailors and asked them to share one portion of grain for each of their ships. The sailors were afraid to do this, for fear that they would be in trouble. I promised them that no one would be punished and the sailors agreed to my request. When they arrived in Egypt, it was as though none of the grain had been taken.
As the stories about be spread around the world and throughout time, people remembered me as a gift-giver and miracle-worker. I was called a "saint" - Saint Nicholas! By the time my story reached Europe, my name had changed to Claus - Saint Claus - Santa Claus!
When Christopher Columbus arrived in the New World, on December 6, 1492, in a part of what is now called Haiti, he named the site "St. Nicholas." When the Dutch came to North America in the 1700s, I came along, but my named, in Dutch, was "Sint-Niklass." Still kind of sounds like Santa Claus, don't you think?
And here I am today. What keeps me alive for all these many long years is the love of children and watching them learn the lesson that giving is far more fun than receiving. Now you know!
