As a psychiatrist of some note, Dr. Feinstein was not accustomed to working on Christmas Day, but he was experienced in working with celebrity clients who often required special treatment. So when he got the call from the big guy himself, St Nick, he made an exception and came in to his downtown office for a very special appointment.

There he was, Santa Claus himself, still dressed in his red suit and boots. Ashes and soot still tarnished his clothes; his large hat was on the floor. Santa’s rotund figure lay on the doctor’s couch. While he had said very little since arriving, Dr. Feinstein could already tell Santa was suffering from depression.

“What seems to be the problem?” asked Dr. Feinstein.

“They shut me down; they just shut me down,” muttered the old man.

“Who are they?” Feinstein inquired.

“All of them, the whole alphabet soup of them,” Santa sneered in disgust as he spat out the words.

In this best Rogerian manner, Dr. Feinstein asked, “How about if you start from the beginning and tell me what happened?”

“I should have seen it coming,” began St. Nick. “They have been doing it to business, to farmers, even to private citizens, but somehow I thought I would be exempt. But they finally got around to enforcing their regulations on what I do every Christmas Eve. They started sending me cease and desist orders. The first came from the USDA. They said I was transporting reindeer across international and state borders without an animal health permit. They said I was presenting an animal health risk. I tried to explain that these were flying reindeer, and they didn’t come in contact with other animals or even humans. It didn’t matter; they said I had to stop.

“Next the FAA said I had to file a flight plan. I told them if I filed a flight plan for my entire trip it would weight over 500 pounds and take well over a year to compile. They said tough; I was grounded.
“Then the Center for Disease Control (CDC) said I had to have an H1N1 shot so that I did not spread a pandemic. They also insisted that all the elves get vaccinated, too. You may not know this doc, but elves do not like needles. They wanted all of us to come down from the North Pole and stand in line at a public health clinic to get inoculated. Can you imagine the media circus?”

Dr. Feinstein nodded in agreement and said, “Go on.”

“Well, next were the clowns at the Labor department. They said I had to give the elves paid vacations, overtime, 401K plans and health insurance benefits. I tried to explain that elves are magic creatures and don’t get sick. And, since they live for hundreds of years, retirement at 65 is not exactly part of their career plans. They responded that, since I only had magical elves, I was not an equal opportunity employer and was guilty of discrimination in the workplace.

“Then the Department of Homeland Security wanted to do a background check on me. They learned that my real name is Nicholas of Myra, and that I originally hail from Lycia, which is in Turkey. And, of course, Turkey is where a lot of terrorists hang out, so they said I had ties to terrorist organizations. They also said that, since I was the patron saint of pawnbrokers, my Christmas Eve travels were just a cover for a small arms smuggling ring.”
The old man shook his head sadly and sighed in obvious resignation.

“Well, I can certainly see what brought you here,” said Dr. Feinstein, feeling a bit overwhelmed by what he had just heard.
“Wait, there’s more,” said St. Nick with an air of sarcasm. “I have not told you about the worst one yet.”

“Ok, go on,” said Feinstein, not sure he really wanted to hear what was next.

“There is one government agency that thinks they own the air, the water and the land; and anyone or anything that travels in the air or on the land or on the water is fair game for their regulations. And, since I do all three in my travels, the EPA was out for my hiney. They said my carbon footprint was too big, that reindeer flatulence was causing global warming, that my sled runners were disturbing the soil and causing erosion, and that my sliding up and down chimneys was causing air pollution. I was cited under the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act, and a half dozen other environmental laws. Each violation carries a fine, and that fine is assessed for each day the violation occurs. Well, I’ve been Santa for a long time, and the total got pretty large.

“So there you are, Doc. I’m broke, busted and out of business.”
Dr. Feinstein stared incredulously at the not so jolly old elf. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

Santa smiled a bit as he stood up from the sofa, “Mrs. Claus found a government program where we can get $100 billion if we retool to produce environmentally safe and renewable products. It is called the green jobs program, and I can put my elves to work in the new green economy. It is a hell of a deal, I will be saving the planet and will even have Christmas off work.” He strolled toward the door with a bit of that old twinkle in his eye.

“Wait!” cried Dr. Feinstein. “You can’t give up! You are the symbol of Christmas; you are the hope and joy of the season.”

“Oh no, I am not,” Santa said suddenly turning serious. “The hope and joy of Christmas is the child that was born in Bethlehem.”
Stroking his long, white beard, he mused, “I often wondered why God chose that place and time to bring forth the Messiah. Now I know, because there were no meddling bureaucracies to mess things up.”

And with that he stepped through the door, leaving Dr. Feinstein alone.

Turning to the window, Dr. Feinstein began to ponder the meaning of Christmas and to reflect on what had happened to the government of the people, by the people, for the people.

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments for Gary Truitt may write to him in care of this publication.