Christmas Eve: Deconstructed

Everyone knows the classic poem titled, "Twas the Night Before Christmas". It's been around since the early 1800's and always gets its fair share of repeated readings every December until nearly everyone can parrot it verbatim. However, have you really sat down and dissected the prose to really figure out what it means? Oh sure, it is more or less about the arrival of Santa Clause at midnight on Christmas morning, but what about all those archaic descriptions and poetic phrasings? Well, pull up a chair and I'd be happy to not only 'de-construct' it for you, but also toss in a little modern-day comparisons as well. Join me, won't you?

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS With Heart-Felt Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

So it appears to be the night before Christmas and, all around the sleepy little homestead, no one is up bravely and pointlessly searching for Santa. Especially, as it seems, the mice. Good thing because that would just be creepy as hell.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

I'm not sure how many people these days actually hang stockings on a chimney, but I sure as heck do -well, on the wall, at any rate- for my three kids and my wife and I because, somewhere in the unfinished basement of my heart, I am secretly hoping Santa still drops in. Oh, and evidently so does this family.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

Have you ever had a sugar plum? VILE. Simply horrendous. It tastes a bit like a chewy piece of candy until the plum flavor explodes in your mouth like a crappy surprise. So, sure, I guess I could understand why back in the 1800's children's dreams might be inundated with such gifts, but I highly doubt many of today's youths would even have the slightest clue what a sugar plum is. Damn kids.

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

So... unless you are either a mental patient, or somewhere in your late 80's, no one wears either a handkerchief or a cap to bed.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash,

tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

Out on the lawn? I guess I can see why this guy was in such a manic hurry to check out what was going on outside! Thieves in the night? An over-night milk delivery? Who knows? We can safely assume that it is Santa, after all that is what this poem is about, but it is quite apparent that this fellow, busting out his locked shutters even before he re-rolls his blinds (sash), has absolutely no idea what's happening.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

What we can readily assume from this rhyming meter is that it is damn bright out there thanks to the moon. Shiny thing, that.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

Let me get this straight. Just because this lad sees a tiny sleight towed by eight rare reindeer leads him to the conclusion that the pilot of said sled MUST be the legendary and famed Saint Nicholas? I see. I'm sorry, but around THESE parts, any number of reindeer leading a smallish toboggan through the air is not necessarily Santa Claus. It could potentially be some kind of escaped convict.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

Did you get that one? These reindeer are so incredibly fast that their combined speed is greater than that of an eagle. Seriously. Would the author lie to you? Yeah, I thought not.

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

Just in case you were wondering, Donder and Blitzen mean 'Thunder' and 'Lightening' in German. Now that part about being speedier than a bird of prey makes a little more sense. Say, there, Mister Clark Moore, where, in your little poetic ditty, is Rudolph? Shouldn't he be leading this ramshackle brigade?

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

I seems to me here in this verse that, rather than actually flying under their own accord, these particular reindeer ricochet off of immovable objects in order to gain momentum. That seems especially ridiculous considering many of Santa's stops are in remote locations not featuring such things as, oh, say 'porches' and 'walls'.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, so up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

This is my favorite line in the whole poem right here. In the first line he is basically talking about a leaf lifted from the ground in one of those dust devil things. Now picture that dry leaf careening with a wall or a tree and watching as it lurches upward and flies around, willy-nilly. Now in the third line, Santa and his sleigh are both being described as doing the same thing, more or less giving us the impression that St, Nick isn't exactly graceful as he flops to the rooftop with his collection of goodies.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

Just as our storyteller hears Santa land on his roof complete with reindeer hoof-beats; Santa himself appears from the chimney flue. Now THAT is talent.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

I sure hope that fur of his wasn't too damn expensive, because if so, the chimney was a bad place to ascend through.

a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

Sounds a bit dissimilar to that typical visual we all have of old Santa, doesn't it? We're pretty used to the red-and-white clad fat guy tugging a giant, velvet bag full of toys. I can imagine kids wondering if this visage is even strong enough to lug that endless Christmas list of theirs.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; he had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

Yeah, that's him.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

Nothing to dread? THERE IS A WACKY LITTLE ELF IN MY LIVING ROOM!

he spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

This 'jolly old elf' is starting to really freak me out. Picture him swinging his hea d around right at you and slyly grinning. That's right about the time I get my bat and dial 911.

and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

I don't care how he got that ability, maybe at Mary Poppins-R-Us, but I want it.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

Quite a lovely image there. Much akin to blowing the fluff off of a dandelion.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

And to you all, as well. Thanks for reading.