Many words can be used to describe Santa and Mrs. Claus—jolly, magical, kindhearted. But one word that should never be overlooked is playful. After all, who wants a dull or overly serious Santa? A gruff or unapproachable Mrs. Claus? As Claus portrayal artists, we not only have implied consent to be playful—it’s part of the role. It’s in the very fabric of who we portray. Play is expected of us, and done intentionally, it can be transformative.

From the very beginning of life, play is central to the human experience. Before we speak our first words or take our first steps, we’re already engaging in playful interaction. Parents and siblings delight us with games like “This Little Piggy,” sparking laughter and glee. Soon, we’re playing back—offering a giggling “peek-a-boo” and soaking up the joy it brings. These moments do more than pass time; they serve as the foundation for learning, bonding, and emotional development.

Play is essential to human growth. It shapes our physical health, mental well-being, and social intelligence. Through play, we begin to test ideas and challenge boundaries. We explore what it means to lead, to follow, to cooperate, and to create. Our imaginations stretch and strengthen, often in ways we don’t fully understand until much later in life. We learn how to think critically, work with others, and even manage conflict—all while simply having fun.

As we grow, our style of play matures and shifts. Different types of play emerge—physical, social, constructive, fantasy, games with rules, solitary, parallel, associative, and cooperative play. Each one offers unique contributions to how we experience the world. During childhood, we often naturally seek out others to join us in this journey. Neighborhoods come alive with imaginative adventures, and friendships are formed on playgrounds and sidewalks.

I remember vividly the summers of my youth, riding bikes with the neighborhood kids. To us, those bikes weren’t just bikes—they were horses. We would reenact scenes from Young Guns, where Emilio Estevez played Billy the Kid. I even got to be Billy every once in a while. We’d borrow my mom’s VHS camcorder and ride off to an old abandoned mill to film our own westerns. I can only imagine the kinds of memories this brings back for many of you—memories of simpler times, of freedom and fun.

Then one day, without even realizing it, the play began to fade. It didn’t stop all at once—it just gradually occurred less and less. Homework began to replace free time. I remember finishing my assignments and rushing outside, only to find no one else was out to play. And before long, childhood slipped into adolescence and eventually into adulthood. Work replaced school, chores replaced games, and the carefree moments we once lived for became rare.

Our modern culture has taken this even further by coining the term “adulting.” Used to describe mundane responsibilities like paying bills, scheduling appointments, and folding laundry, the word carries with it a sense of drudgery—an unspoken assumption that fun and play are no longer acceptable parts of our lives. This is unfortunate, because there is incredible power in play.

From a scientific standpoint, play is profoundly beneficial. During play, our brains release chemicals that are essential to our well-being—dopamine, endorphins, serotonin, oxytocin, and more. These substances help regulate our mood, reduce stress and anxiety, improve memory, and deepen our sense of connection to others. Play isn’t just enjoyable—it’s biologically good for us. And it’s not limited to children.

Early in my working life, I was hired as an activities assistant at a local nursing home. Later, I became the activities director. One moment stands out clearly in my memory: the first day of my professional training. After returning from lunch, we walked into the classroom to find all the chairs and tables replaced by a massive parachute—just like the kind we played with during gym class in elementary school. We all lit up. Without hesitation, a room full of adults began playing again—running under the parachute, tossing balls onto it, waving it high and low. For the next hour, we were kids again. And it was exhilarating.

As director of activities, my job was to bring that kind of joy to others. I planned physical games like seated kickball and bowling, hosted dance sessions, organized card games, and led BINGO nights. I facilitated ice cream socials and storytelling circles. I loved my job. For six years, I worked in activities—most of that time in memory care units—building programs from scratch, bringing smiles to the faces of people who many had forgotten.

What I learned is this: play is timeless. And it comes back into our lives, often unexpectedly. It might return when we become parents, as we teach our children their ABCs, or rediscover board games, or play catch in the yard. We cheer at their soccer matches and giggle with them at the dinner table. Later, as grandparents, it returns again—our second chance to play.

So what does all this have to do with portraying Santa or Mrs. Claus? Everything.

As Clauses, we are entrusted with a magical role. We bring stories to life, ignite the imagination, and—most importantly—we play. Our ability to engage in meaningful, joyful, intentional play is what transforms a simple visit into a lasting memory. And though every Santa and Mrs. Claus does this differently, the heart of it is the same.

At a home visit, play might show up in the way we read a book—using different voices and facial expressions to bring the characters to life. It might be heard in our playful banter with the children or in the songs we sing together. It could involve a quick game like “Reindeer Hokey Pokey” or a fun round of “Follow the Leader,” with jingle bell ropes and antler headbands as everyone pretends to be part of Santa’s reindeer team, weaving around the living room.

At larger events like tree lightings, parades, and corporate parties, play can take many forms. For example, I love incorporating the Saran Wrap Ball game at one of my big holiday events. In this game, age-appropriate items are wrapped tightly inside layers of plastic wrap. Using a “30-second dance party” button as a timer, players take turns unwrapping the ball and keeping the prizes that fall out. Add oven mitts into the mix and the excitement ramps up quickly! I enjoyed the game so much that it’s become a Christmas Eve tradition in my own family.

There are endless ways we can make our appearances more playful. The key is to plan for it—intentionally and thoughtfully. Play doesn’t have to mean chaos. It can be structured, simple, and deeply meaningful. It invites laughter, connection, and joy. And it reminds us—and those we interact with—what magic really feels like.

When we engage in playful Claus portrayals, we become more than a performer in a red suit—we become part of the memory itself. We stand out not just because we look the part, but because we bring warmth, energy, and authentic joy to every moment. Families will remember how we made them feel. And perhaps most importantly, we give ourselves permission to play again. We allow ourselves to be lighthearted, silly, even vulnerable—in a way that’s healing and rejuvenating.

In a world filled with pressures, obligations, and noise, play becomes an act of rebellion. It is a return to something sacred. It’s not something we outgrow. It’s something we forget, and then must choose to remember. As Clauses, we are fortunate to be given that choice regularly—and we’d be wise to embrace it.

So the next time you step into the boots, don the hat, and pick up the sleigh bells, remember this: you are not just embodying a character—you are becoming a vessel of play. Let it guide your movements. Let it spark your imagination. Let it bring joy not only to those you serve, but also to yourself.

Because play is not the opposite of work. It is the fuel for meaning. And as Santa or Mrs. Claus, you don’t just have permission to play—you have a sacred responsibility to do so.

Father Christmas of the Three Mountains