Dear Santa (Special Edition)

WAYNE’S WORDS
Volume 8 Number 02
Dear Santa

(This is the December Special Edition of Wayne's Words that was printed in a publication called Holidays de Las Cruces. I had to hold it until now, but it is Christmasy! Merry Christmas!)

Remember when you were a kid and Christmas was just around the corner as it is now? That was the time of year when I was on my very best behavior. I didn’t want to jeopardize my shot at receiving a slot-car race track or Rock’em Sock’em Robots or (especially) new G.I. Joes! They weren’t dolls! They were action figures!

Every year, as the weather got colder and Christmas drew nearer, I would sit at the kitchen table (regardless of where the Air Force had sent my family) and write my letter to Santa Claus. I was always polite. I would ask how he and the wife were doing (buttering him up), how the elves were (more buttering), and I would always ask about his reindeer – especially Rudolph (even more buttering). I truly was concerned about all of them. Let’s just say, it wasn’t main point of my letter.

I would continue my letter, before I got to the litany of toys I wanted, by telling him wonderful tales of what an outstanding kid I had been that year. How I stuck up for my sister when someone called her names, did my homework, finished my chores, said “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am,” et cetera. I never actually lied to Santa. I just highlighted my positive behavioral traits and “accidentally” neglected the negative. I didn’t tell him that I also taunted my sister (she started it!) or that I, sometimes, did my homework right before class because I was too busy playing with my old toys the night before. I also didn’t mention the times I sloppily did my chores so I would be finished in time to see Mork and Mindy or the “yes, sirs and ma’ams” were sometimes followed by grumbles under my breath. I was sure he already knew all of that. I didn’t see any reason to remind him. 

I’m sure that even back then, I knew that Santa could see through my tricks. I knew I wasn’t being original. I knew that every other kid that celebrated Christmas was doing the same thing. I hoped that Santa would be so flattered by my concern and my manners that he would look past any slight transgression that may have transpired since the previous Christmas due to the misbehavior of this hopeful gift-getter. I was sure that was thinking of all the other kids on the planet too.

When I was finished with my letter of fluff and requests, I would give it to my Mom and she would make sure the envelope was legible. She’d put the stamp on it and put it with the rest of our outgoing mail. Then I would wait. I would wait for Christmas Morning to see if Santa bought my snow job. Actually, I was realistic even back then. I just hoped he saw fit to give me a small fraction of my list. Heck, ONE new toy would’ve been cool! I was SURE I deserved at least SOMETHING fun to balance out the annual pack of socks my Grandmother would send me! 

“C’mon Santa!!” 

Even after receiving my letter filled with transparent flattery and edited tales of my exemplary behavior every year, Santa never failed me. Sometimes I got tons of stuff, sometimes just a few items. I never got everything. Heck, I wasn’t a Saint! Plus, as my parents would often remind me, “that’s why it was called a wish-list.”

Looking back, I only specifically remember asking for the previously mentioned gifts, and only because they were mainstay favorites of my childhood. I don’t recall any other particular thing for which I asked. They just weren’t important enough to remember. It is the significant memories that stay with me. I recall the act of sitting down every year to compose my letter to Santa. Before email. On paper. When we still had to wait for things.

Until Next Time,
Wayne