...the spirit of Christmas

This Tuesday afternoon I went to the mall. I know, I know…no, I’m fine. Willowbend…in Frisco. Yeah way up north. So, I run into Franklin Covey to buy my brother’s Christmas present, and the shopgirls and I are talking about Christmas, our families, how freakishly cold Chicago gets. (My brother’s little dog-child lifted it’s leg to pee, and it froze up there- they had to carry her little freezing body home). The shopgirls and I hit it off- like best friends. It’s so sweet…and yet…this only re-enforces my current theory of having no life and able only to engage meaningful human interaction from those that facilitate my purchases. ‘Tis the season bah!

But I did see Santa, who is looking much more casual lately. He’s retired that nasty red suit with the matted white fur trim for something a bit more caz…like an evergreen reindeer-print Henley with suspenders. The line to see him was brutally long, and the little ones dressed up in velvet and ringlets mingled with others in jeans and chocolate stains. Those in the center of the line were starting to crash from the candy cane high of just seconds before; their mothers wiping the sticky off their faces with saliva dampened Kleenex. A few tikes trailing up the back were engaging in some weird competitive Christmas caroling, while their mothers stared off vacant trying to find their Zanex friendly coping ‘zone’ for the long wait ahead.

According Santa’s camera savy elf with the invite list, the very first bowl-cut kid in line was named Devon. The next-in-line jitters were torturing him onto kiddom infinity, as made obvious by his modified ‘pee-pee’ style dance. While the adults were busy analyzing the digital photo results of the previous star struck fledgling, he flagged Santa’s attention. When Santa waved back at him and asked him how he was, Devon broke out of the corral, body slammed the restraining gate, and darted for the old fart’s lap. Security wrestled him in mid-decent back to his rightful station behind the kiddy gate as he shouted ‘Santa! Santa said I could!!!’

Indeed, Santa is the boss of this whole affair, and it only seems right that due process can, and should be overridden with the wave of his hand, but I myself am only still figuring out the way this crazy world works.

I don’t know why I started crying right there. I stuffed the burning of my throat and blinked hard and fast, careful not to upset the mommies amongst me. Little Devon’s just so sincere and so pathetic that I can understand what drives a parent to spank. And drink too much. And move out to the suburbs to be amongst others of the same ilk. To watch countless others pose their empty hearts and pretend to laugh at lame elf jokes for the camera, when all you want is a little meaningful encounter with someone who is loyal and thinks that you’re awesome and is willing to hold you, dirty diaper and all, and listen to your wildest dreams.

I dedicate this post to the young and ripe Devon…even though you probably can’t even read, you little bastard.