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I have no doubt that somewhere out there, a child is saying to his parents. I think children these days are just too smart, and they start to lose their belief in Santa at an earlier age.
I would usually start being nice around late October, in the hopes of avoiding a toyless Christmas. I’ll bet, even the Pope was a naughty little boy once in a while. Personally, it was pretty hard for me to be nice all year round. Pretty scary, huh? Did any of you, ever wake up on Christmas morning expecting a huge bag of coal under the tree with your name on it? Naughty or nice.
Whenever you sat on his lap, he’d always ask you if you had been naughty or nice during the past year. I remember a simpler time, when Santa lived at the North Pole with his elves, and they spent the entire year making toys for good little boys and girls.
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robotic toy with artificial intelligence! I know we’re living in a modern world with amazing technological advances, but does a seven-year-old, really need the new Apple iPhone X 256gb Silver, with a OLED screen, rear telephoto camera, and password protection via facial recognition?
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What in the heck, is a WIFI FPV version U818A drone with a 720P HD camera? I’m also having a little trouble getting my mind around a Kid Kraft Uptown Espresso Machine, and a Meccano – Erector M.A.X. Maybe, some of you younger parents with technological aptitudes, and obviously more intelligence than me, can explain a few must-have gifts on many of today’s Christmas wish lists. Can someone please tell me whatever happened to opening presents on Christmas morning, and finding Barbie or Raggedy Ann dolls, toy firetrucks, one-speed bikes, little, plastic toy soldiers, an easy bake oven, a BB gun, or possibly an amazing Sears wooden sled, with polished steel runners, and a convenient attached rope, to help navigate snow-covered hill tops? I also remember, being thrilled to find a whistle, a Hersey’s chocolate bar, and a big plump orange in my stocking on Christmas morning. I kept having smiling small children, rush up to me, jump on my lap, and recite lengthy Christmas wish lists, before departing with their frazzled parents, who usually gave me disapproving looks. In November, I took a much-needed two-week vacation, stopped shaving, bundled up in my fur-lined red jacket, and enjoyed a few delicious alcoholic beverages. Except for not having a beard, I look exactly like Santa Claus! I guess that explains a few things. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf.
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He had a broad face, and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. I remember from the poem, how Santa Claus was described as being dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. I still have memories of lying in bed on Christmas Eve, hearing a noise, looking out the window, seeing snow fall from our rooftop, and envisioning Santa Claus disembarking from his sleigh with an enormous bag, as eight tiny reindeer waited patiently nearby. I’m not sure, if I’ve ever experienced that feeling of wonder and magic since. My family had a tradition of reading the poem, “The Night Before Christmas,” in front of a roaring fire, as we all sipped hot chocolate, and stared in wonder at a beautifully decorated Christmas tree, and colorful stockings hung above the fireplace.
I had already listed comfortable, white, Fruit of the Loom underwear, warm socks, a new snow shovel, a knit ski hat, and a heating pad, when I paused for a moment to reminisce about being a child, and the anticipation of a visit from Santa Claus. A few nights ago, I was feverishly writing down my wish list for Santa.
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