“….an auto space convertible, too, light blue….and hurry down the chimney tonight.---Eartha Kitt (Javits & Springer)
Let me tell you about something called Christmas. The real one, the exclusive purview of tiny tykes young enough to believe in fairy tales and miracles and flexible chimneys and the inarguable star of The Magic Show, Santa Claus, himself, a jolly, round, incredibly talented elf-man who can deliver toys to children in no less than 195 countries over a 12-hour span, all while carrying a little extra weight.
Inculcated in the ways of Santa by their otherwise scrupulous parents, children are aware of St. Nick almost from birth. 85% of them still believe at age 4, before older kids at school and a burgeoning capacity for logic intervene, reducing the faithful to 65% at age 6 and 25% at 8. For whatever reasons they remain faithful and for however long, these true believers are the lucky ones. The song asserts that the lights are brighter there on Broadway but none are so bright as those in the eyes of the Santa adherents. For these, Christmas offers a richer tapestry, infinite possibilities, excitement galore, as they ponder the aerodynamic capabilities of eight tiny reindeer, fret over the possibility of nefarious Christmas Eve weather, wonder if their lists made it to the North Pole P.O. in time. But it’s not just the gifts. After all, the presents keep coming long after Santa has been consigned to the dustbin. No, it’s the mystery of the enterprise, the thrill of the visit, the worrisome question of whether we passed muster with the old scorekeeper. Mom, did you remember the milk and cookies? Is it true that Santa won’t show up if I don’t fall asleep? And how the hell do I fall asleep when Santa’s coming?
Christmas is not just Game Day, of course. It’s checking the pre-game odds, getting the best tickets, preparing the tailgate. There are fir trees to purchase, window-candles to be lit, there’s tinsel to sling, stockings to hang, a blizzard to be ordered for Christmas Eve, a million errands to be run. But how much would all of it mean without Santa, the promise of bells in the air, hooves landing on the roof? Not as much, as we all discover when we grow older and more clever, when our powers of analysis eventually reveal to us the horrible truth.
The worst day of our lives might be the one when we finally cave to our sad suspicions, where the last glimmer of hope is dispatched and we must accept Christmas for what it is, another nice holiday for family-gathering and gift-giving, a happy respite in the midst of dubious weather and the daily grind. We hear people complain that “It doesn’t seem like Christmas any more.” Well, of course not. Once forfeited, how can we ever regain our innocence, restore that cherished state of mind lost to us as children, believe once again that all things are possible? All the snow and mistletoe and presents on the tree won’t bring back the magic, the goosebumps, the sheer wonder of the days when Santa was in bloom.
It’s A Small World
Even at 2 1/2, Brendan was a sharp little fellow, gifted in speech and nobody’s fool. His parents took him to see one of Santa’s helpers at a December party and he was happy to receive a small gift. They could not convince him, however, that Santa Claus, himself, would return on Christmas morning with a new batch of goodies. He couldn’t see why. He thought they were crazy. Although his brothers and sisters were all atwitter on Christmas Eve, Brendan went off to bed not one bit nervous, just like he would any other night.
Morning dawned and the children woke up early and raced to the bottom of the stairs, Brendan walking sleepily behind them. When he got to the living room, he just froze in awe at the tree and all the gifts surrounding it. His big brown eyes filled with the amazement of Christmas that most parents pray their children will experience. Brendan couldn’t even move or speak for a couple of moments, then he raced over to the tree, trembling as he inspected the incredible miracle which had happened here. He yelled for his parents and when they arrived he looked up at them in shock. “You were right!” he exclaimed. “He came….he really came….and he left all this freakin’ STUFF!”
Letters To Santa
Dear Santa Claus:
“Okay, I know I was really BAD this year, but I promise to be much better NEXT year. So can we make a deal? You bring me the regular good kid presents this year and next year you don’t have to bring me anything. Fair?”
“If I wake up, please don’t go away without leaving presents. You made a LOT of noise last year and I couldn’t help waking up just a little, my eyes just kind of opened. This made me worry and I had to stay awake in my bed for a very long time til morning, which is not good for children my age. You left presents anyway, so that’s good. Please do the same this year if my eyes open up again. If you can leave me a Lone Ranger mask, next year I will wear it and block up the eyeholes.”
“Don’t worry if our dog Jack barks at you. Making a bark is just what dogs do. It’s natural. He doesn’t mean to be bad. If you are very, very scared to come in with all the barking, could you just leave the presents outside? They will be okay because all the neighbors are afraid of Jack, too.”
“You BETTER bring my pony this year or there will be consequences. If you don’t know what consequences are, ask your wife.”
“If you’re going to bring presents that need batteries, bring batteries. Last year, some of my presents couldn’t be used for two days. I would think you should know better.”
“Could you make me prettier than my best friend, Laura? That’s the only present I would really like.”
Ach Du Lieber (vot a viener)!
An Airbus crew with time on its hands delivered a surprise Christmas treat over Germany, tracing the outline of an enormous Christmas tree during a cheery test flight. The crew, which was testing an Airbus A380, produced a colorful image clearly rendered on the flight-tracking website Flightradar24.
The tree, replete with baubles, stretched for hundreds of kilometers from Hamburg to Stuttgart in the south. The jet will eventually be flown by Dubai carrier Emirates. The tree was rendered in several colors, reflecting the plane’s varying altitudes. No passengers were on board.
Everyone agreed that the Christmas tree was a far superior portrait than the one drawn last month by a U.S. Navy pilot who was strongly reprimanded for using contrails to trace a penis over the state of Washington. Supporters of the second pilot argued that the shapes of the two renderings were scarcely any different but the Navy is still frowning.
The Secret World Of Santa Claus
An Enid, Oklahoma family expecting guests on Christmas eve opened their front door to find Santa Claus standing there in full regalia. Delighted, they invited him in. Santa proved to be a great sport, posing for photos with all the childen, regaling the party with tales of reindeer and the North Pole. Cookies and milk were brought out and Santa demolished them all. Finally, he arose, dispatched an ample selection of ho-ho-hos and disappeared into the chilly white night. The parents looked at one another and asked, “Did you invite that guy” “No, I have no idea!” “Who the hell was he anyway?”
If they were to look above the mantel where their stockings were hung, they’d have found a single mistletoe bullet. The Lone Santa rides again!
Dozens of children gathered around the tree at the big Christmas party, excitedly waiting for Santa. He arrived with a flourish and great applause filled the hall. Each child got a brief visit with St. Nick while giddy parents struggled for better photo positions. Finally, it was little Irana’s turn. She bounced up on Santa’s knee. The Old Saint, playing to his audience, asked “And what is your name, little girl?” “My name is Irana,” she told him in a soft, tiny voice. “What’s that?” Santa asked, “I couldn’t quite hear you.” The little girl, impatient with all this, put her hands on her hips and adressed the jolly old elf. “Oh Larry, you know me! You’re my bus driver!”
Not every child is eager to meet a big hairy man in a red suit, and this included little Theresa, a mere two years old. Her sweet old grandmother talked her into it, however, and Theresa was surprisingly good, sitting patiently for picture after picture. Finally, she had enough and she figured a way out of her predicament. She looked Santa in the eye and told him “I pooped.” The less than jolly old elf jumped up, waved and hollered, “Okay, Granny---she’s done!” And so are we, except for an important birthday review: Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me, When I’m 65? Apparently, we will. Yesterday was Siobhan’s 65th birthday, celebrated with 16 friends at Angelina Mia’s downtown Williston pizzaria. Angelina Mia’s will never be mistaken for The Four Seasons or even the predictable Pizza Hut, but it has history and character and so what if there’s an occasional dip in the floor? The dependable Nicole, Williston’s foremost ‘Get ‘er Done’ girl, did her restaurant proud, juggling pizzas, directing traffic and delivering the cake right on time. Siobhan, the daughter of less than ebullient parents, told us it was the first birthday party she ever had. If we knew that, we’d have started 30 years ago, but better late than never. She thanks everyone for their clever gifts and Facebook tributes but mostly for keeping in touch and recognizing the moment. Tonight, we’ll be eating at Subway. That’s all, folks….
