Christmas in Five Acts

I realize that Christmas 2008 was thrown out with the wrapping paper almost two months ago. But as many of you know, the last year has been . . . well, transitional. Chaotic. Hopefully you’ll forgive me for posting an out-of-season story that I’ve only just finished. If you do, I’ll forgive you for wearing white after Labor Day. -b

Act 1. The Problem:
Even though the last days of December are already hectic for both Santa and Jesus, I thought it was appropriate to tell history's two most popular people what happened. Since neither seems overly concerned with justice, I feel it's necessary for someone to help them update their naughty lists during the busy season.

Of course, I don't fault them with what happened. I understand that neither Jesus nor his party planner spend much time watching locker rooms at the YMCA - especially at Christmas. To do so would almost certainly be a violation of the omniscience that has made them each famous.

But that doesn't excuse the fact that I was robbed.

Act 2. The Setting:
My sister’s Christmas tree was spectacular, planted in a mulch of ribbons and wrapping paper, blooming with a hundred colored bulbs. Angels and snowmen nested in branches drooping with a harvest of fragile glass balls. The poor thing should have been the happiest tree on earth.

Kathy is a good mother. She waters her children regularly. They're so hydrated they sometimes leak at night. She even gives Santa, who only stops by for a few minutes each year, a glass of warm milk and cookies. The Christmas tree, however, endured its three week stay in my sister's house without her offering it the smallest sip of water.

For all its decoration, the tree might as well have been a princess parading through a dessert - dressed for a banquet, but dying of thirst. Parched, it probably spent the entire Christmas season wondering how an eight foot evergreen transplanted to a suburban living room and covered with flashing lights could possibly be forgotten by a family of four.

Sadly, it happens – especially at Christmas.

Act 3. The Situation:
Children’s minds get cluttered at Christmas. At least twice during the holidays they need to have their brains washed to clear the visions of sugarplums out of their heads. Bloody slasher movies do the trick, but most parents prefer things like playgrounds, trampolines, bike rides, and basketball.

Four days before Christmas, Kathy told her kids that they were going to the swimming pool and Uncle Bryan was coming too. The Children cheered and changed their clothes. The Christmas tree sighed.

“Mammals,” it thought, “have all the fun.”

It was right. Four days before Christmas, we went swimming.

Act 4. The Stupidity
Does Santa lock his sleigh so kids out after curfew don’t swipe his pack of smokes off the passenger seat?

Did Mary lock the manger door to keep loitering shepherds from stealing her family’s new stash of gold, frankincense, and myrrh?

Do the elves lock their toys in a trunk every time the Tooth Fairy comes for a visit?

No. Of course not.

In a similar spirit of blissful trust and unintentional generosity, when we went to the pool I didn’t lock my locker.

Act 5. The Scandal:
The kids who stole my cash didn't care if Santa watched when they were sleeping. According to a Christmas carol loophole, by day he only knew they were awake.

If the details of their waking lives, and therefore their hopes for a coal-free Christmas morning, were protected by this technicality – why shouldn't they help themselves to the contents of a stranger's wallet?

Answer: Even if he wasn't watching when they opened my locker door, Santa will see the aspiring young convicts at the mall next year. When he does, he'll wonder where they got the money to buy those new shoes he wasn't asked to make and he'll know why they no longer need his services.

So don’t forget, little thieves, your name never gets crossed off his list. It only gets moved to a different column. This is where the two Christmas patriarchs part company. Santa holds a grudge.