I’VE NEVER FOUND THE DUDE IN RED TO BE INTERESTING. In fact, nothing would make me more happier than to see him arrested this year for climbing down our chimnies, eating our cookies and drinking our glasses of milk.
That red suit and big beer belly of his is repulsive to me. His white beard, big black belt, and Christmas hat makes him suspicious rather than inviting to me. And his occupation; flying around on a magic sleigh and then climbing down chimnies leaving gifts for children who were nice, is just not appealing nor is it realistic to me.
Then talk about the raindeers, the little elf helpers, and the whole naughty-list thing, how could any of that possibly make sense? And what about him being allowed to enter our homes without notice when we’re all asleep—isn’t that a crime? I’m sure we can charge him for breaking and entering this season—effectively putting him out of work for a very long time! Other people, like my little sister and both our mother and father, may buy his charm and surreptitious behaviors, but I don’t.
Every year, all I think about is Santa Claus in court, and in handcuffs, wearing his phony outfit, and being sentenced by a judge—getting what he deserved for never responding to all the letters I’ve sent him. Our mother keeps telling me that he will answer once I start being nice at school and leaving all the nerdy kids alone—but he hasn’t. Every year in December, I’m always nice but he never writes back nor leaves me anything under the Christmas tree. Either our mother is lying about him writing back or the two of them are working together every Christmas—I don’t care, either way, I’ve had it!
When he comes this year, I am going to be waiting for him and his little elf helpers—and then I’m going to wake our mother up. And, because she loves me she’s going to finally do something about him not writing back or bringing me coal each year!
December 25th, Christmas morning
“Mr. Santa Claus do you know why you’re here today?” asks the judge. “Yes, ma’am I do,” Santa replies. ” I was caught doing what I usually do, your honor…” Which is?” the judge curiously asks. ” I was quietly climbing down the chimnies at night to deliver presents to nice children—when all the sudden, I got spotted by a kid whose mother was a judge. “That’s right Mr. Claus,” replied the judge, “And that was my child who spotted you wasn’t it?” Santa Claus replies, “Yes, it was, your honor.”
The judge looked over at me and somehow managed to find me with her eyes despite all the tall adults around. My little sister and our dog, Dexter were sitting next to me—-and they weren’t angry, but I could tell that they were disappointed that I ratted on Santa Claus. “Mr. Santa Claus is my child here in this court today?” she asked. “Yes, he…is, your honor,” Santa answered, while his lawyer hopelessly stood next to him. “Can you point him out, Mr. Claus?” our mother asked. “Yes, I can, your honor,” Santa replied, and now, turning his body to point his shaky finger at me. “He’s right there, your honor!” Santa said with such a sad look on his face. “Little Danny,” said Santa, “All I wanted was for you to finally have a good, Merry Christmas. I was gonna leave you something this year, but—”
“Honey, you can stop now,” our mother said. “We’ve given him his wish, and yet, he still doesn’t know.”
Know what? I thought, with a confused look on my face.
Before I could sort out what was happening and why our mother just called Santa, honey; Miley, my little sister, wrapped her arms around me and whispered into my ear, “Danny, you never were that bright….were you?”
Main photo was from Unsplash and taken by photographer, Filip Mroz