One of my earliest memories is of being in my family’s blue Oldsmobile headed to the Sanger-Harris store in Irving on a cold December night to have a straightforward discussion with Santa Claus.
Funny how our memories work. I don’t remember Santa himself or what I asked for that year, just the darkness of the car that December night and the fact that I felt quite serious about the task at hand.
I think that may have been the year my older sister got a Chatty Cathy doll for Christmas. Another memory snippet I have is of sneaking that doll out of my sister’s closet one night when I supposed to be in bed sleeping, and poking curiously at her teeth. It was a novel thing back then for a doll to have teeth.
But I digress.
Communicating with Santa is serious business. Just ask any kid. One little girl in particular obviously viewed her annual letter to Santa as a way to set him straight about her sister, and to order him around. (And, guys, don’t say that she’ll make a great wife some day, unless you want a lump of coal as well as one on your head.)
Here is a portion of the little girl’s letter:
“Since you (Santa) buy me a lot, you can pick the rest.” (She wrote this sentence after listing her top gift choices.) She continued:
“Lily is my sister and Luke is my brother. They are good, but sometimes make bad choices. Lily wants blocks, (a) shopping cart and play dough. She already has enough stuff. Can you please water our tree when you come to our house. I do not like you to come upstairs to my room.”
Tom may be a little boy in search of his true identity:
“Dear Santa: For Christmas, I would like everything in the whole entire world, even girl stuff.”
Perhaps this little boy’s stocking should contain a gift certificate for a therapy session:
“Dear Santa – I would like a chainsaw.”
Thomas may be destined for the distinction “Most Likely to Never Get Lucky.” He wants boxers.
One little boy, perhaps the next Donald Trump, listed nine things he hopes to receive during the season for giving. Number eight was “1 billion dollars.” Number nine was “one of those little scooters.”
Myself, I wouldn’t want to give Santa the impression that I’m greedy. I would have just stopped at number eight.
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