Tweet26-11-2009 om 23:25 by Sueli Brodin

My son Tim is in denial. When he discovered the “truth” about Sinterklaas at school last year, he said that he had found it “very disappointing”. He seemed to have come to terms with it though, and would even discreetly wink at my husband and me whenever we would discuss Sinterklaas related topics at the dinner table. This year however, he’s behaving as if he had decided to believe in Sinterklaas all over again.

Just like his two younger sisters, he has written a list of the gifts he’d like to receive on 5 December, he makes drawings for Sinterklaas and the Zwarte Pieten, which he puts in his shoe every weekend, sings and plays Sinterklaas songs on the piano, watches the Sinterklaas news programme every evening on television (together with one million other Dutch children), and generally acts if he has forgotten that we know that he knows.



It’s an exciting time of year for Dutch children who become particularly restless. One of the teachers at school described the effervescent mood in a funny and typically sarcastic little poem – as Sinterklaas poems are meant to be - in last week’s newsletter:

Beste ouders, beste opvoeders,

De sint is weer aangekomen in het land,
en dat is balen want..,
Kinderen doen zo druk als een konijn,
iets om niet echt blij mee te zijn.

Even een pauze, even een rustmoment,
een wens die door een ieder zal worden onderkend.
De komst van de nieuwsbrief is een baken,
in deze woelige tijden,
het is tot 5 december nog even lijden,
laat u de pepernoten en chocoladeletters goed smaken!

Rough translation:
Dear parents, dear tutors,

The saint has arrived again,
and that’s a disaster because..,
children are busy like little rabbits,
nothing to be really happy about.

Just a break, a moment of rest,
is a wish that everyone will endorse.
The arrival of the newsletter is a beacon,
in these turbulent times,
it’s a situation we’ll have to endure until 5 December.
Enjoy the “pepernoten” (typical Sinterklaas spicy cookies) and the chocolate letters!



My children talk about nothing else at home. My youngest daughter Sacha has already made her sister Naomi write down the fourth version of her wish list of presents, because she lost the two first lists and accidentally “ate” (?) half of the third one. Sacha’s number one wish is a toy cell phone.

She’s so eager to have one that she has even tried to convince me several times that we would actually do Sinterklaas a favour if we would just go ahead and get one already at the toyshop. She says that 5 December is too far away and that she can’t wait that long. Moreover: “It is so much work for Sinterklaas to buy presents for all the children of the Netherlands, and the presents are so heavy! I’m sure he’ll be relieved if there’s one present less to worry about!” I had to agree with her that her arguments were smart and convincing… but I didn’t give in. Her excitement is building up, and that’s the fun part of the waiting process.

My first encounter with the Dutch celebration of Sinterklaas happened at the kibbutz in Israel. There was a large group of volunteers from the Netherlands and a few of us non-Dutch had been invited to join the party. I had assumed that we were going to exchange presents among each other, a bit like at a Christmas party, and was very surprised to witness something completely different. First of all, all of the presents that were given were wrapped up in comical surprise packages, in the shape of a boat, or a music instrument, or a giant animal etc. Also, none of the presents were meant to be taken seriously. One boy for example received a toilet rubber plunger! Thirdly, every gift was accompanied by a satirical poem poking fun at the receiver and signed by “Sinterklaas”, or simply “Sint”. The Dutch volunteers were laughing to stitches while I was pleasantly discovering a new playful and provocative side to my otherwise serious and mature comrades.

Prior to this, the only thing I knew about the Saint was a French song called “La légende de St Nicolas” which I had heard as a child. The song had made a strong impression on me because it told the terrifying story of three lost children who had been captured and chopped into pieces by a butcher before being thrown into a salting tub. Luckily for them, “le bon St Nicolas” came along seven years later and miraculously resuscitated them. No one however seems to be familiar with this legend here in the Netherlands.

For my husband, there was no question that we wouldn’t start celebrating Sinterklaas when our children were born. He described it as the most exciting event of the year for all Dutch children, more than Christmas and even more than birthdays. What I like about it is the element of magic around it, and the suspension of disbelief that children happily surrender to.



My children for example notice every year that the Sinterklaas who arrives in our village looks different from the Sinterklaas they see on television, but they have an acceptable explanation for this: there is one official Sinterklaas and many “Hulp Sinterklaassen” whose task it is to help him cover all the country at the same time.

Another question that bothers them sometimes is that Sinterklaas has now grown so old – 800 years – that he might die one day. The other day, my daughter Naomi suggested that if that happened, there would be enough spare ones. Upon which her little sister blurted out: “No I have a better idea! In that case, the parents should buy the presents!”

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