It’s Christmas time again. Glass balls hang from slowly dying trees in living rooms, greedy children conspire to get expensive toys, people bring in homemade candy as you wonder about their daily cleansing ritual (are those scabs?). Yes, it’s the time of giving and caring, but not really.
This is the first year that Gertrude is really aware of Christmas. The last two years she was still too much of a baby. But now, she gets it. There are presents involved and she will be getting some. Seems like a sweet deal to her, despite the fact whenever she sees a gift she sings “Happy Birthday to Mommy.” And, because she told me this morning that she “really likes” me, she gets extra presents. (She also described her breakfast as “pretty yummy”.)
But, for all of her zeal, she just doesn’t get the idea of Santa, that Jolly Old Elf. In fact, in Gertrude’s mind, she sees Santa as more of a mafia boss. An enforcer. When asked what Santa says, Gert responds, “Gimme da presents.” So, in her mind, Santa comes in and takes your presents away. Not a good thing, at least in my mind. I mean, if Santa is such a jolly guy, why the hell is he stealing our stuff? For that matter, if he has an entire slave force making him toys year round, why does he need our toys?
My theory, based on Gertrude’s idea, is that Santa is blackmailing us with this whole naughty/nice thing. Santa giveth, Santa taketh away. Jolly bastard.
Matilda is another story. She is eight. And doubtful. This whole Santa thing (along with the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny) doesn’t sit well with her. She questions everything.
“So, uh, we don’t have a chimney. How does Santa get in?”
“He has a master key. He can open any door in the world.”
“Damn. Okay, okay, how does he know if we’re naughty or nice? Huh? He can’t possibly know that.”
“He’s omnipotent. He can do anything, including making your hair turn green, if he sees fit.”
“Okay, so if he’s so all powerful, why did he leave the Toys-R-Us tag on my present last year?”
“Like anyone else, Santa has had issues in this economy. The elves organized early in 2002 and started demanding all sorts of things, higher wages, better gingerbread, no more pointy shoes. You know, typical labor disputes. Santa, rather than bowing to organized labor, decided to outsource the entire operation and contracted with Toys-R-Us to distribute their merchandise. That’s why if you stay up until Santa comes, you’ll see the Toys-R-Us logo plastered to his sleigh. It’s economics.”
“Huh?”
But I know she doesn’t believe anymore, despite her posturing and feigning. It’s clear she’s not into the make-believe element. Why doesn’t she tell us? Yellow-freaking fear. She’s terrified that if she lets on that she knows that the Jolly Fat Man is really me that would spell the end to getting gifts on Christmas morning. Then the balance of power would rest in the hands of her sister, who clearly wouldn’t be able to handle it. So Matilda has sacrificed her knowledge for the tradition.
I mean, let’s face it, the kid is too damn smart to believe that some magic old man comes into our house to eat cookies and leave us gifts. She’s not stupid. Hell, I figured it out in first grade when I looked it up in the dictionary (I had to check the definition of “Fictional” as well, to fully understand).
So this year we’re having a different tradition. No Santa. This year, Abe Vigoda is coming to leave our gifts. I’ve actually hired him. Seriously.
The kids are going to sit on his lap and tell “Santa Fish” what they want for Christmas.
“Daddy! Santa Fish already looks dead. Do we have to touch him?”
“He’s still alive honey. Don’t worry.”
There’s nothing like Abe Vigoda to put the fear of Christmas in these damned modern kids.
Discuss Santa Fish
No comments:
Post a Comment