That’s right, folks, since everyone else seems to be jumping the gun with the Xmas cheer a little bit earlier each year—and since I myself am a Christmas guy through to my very marrow—I decided what the heck, let’s bring back good ol’ Scrooge Picard in plenty of time to crowd Thanksgiving this year. Still a wee mite of theme-tweaking to be done, and as always you folks can surely feel free to let me know if something isn’t working for ya. Maybe I can fix it, maybe I can’t; I haven’t kept my web-design and site-building skills anything like current in recent years, so being able to repair things on my own is by no means a given. But I’ll give it the old college try, you betcha.
As for that jumping-the-gun business: I and the young ‘un have already seen a good few houses all decorated and lit up, and after some discussion we both decided we didn’t mind it a bit. Understandable in her case, of course, since she’s all of ten years old and, though her mom hipped her to the sad truth about the existence of Santa Claus a cpl-three years ago, still a Christmas Kid through and through. That apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Against my wishes, the Ex’s disappointing Santa-busting was—without my knowledge, even—and I still just hate that she did it. “I won’t lie to my daughter,” explained she. To which I responded that such was a silly, kind of pompous attitude to take. As I see it there’s lies, and then there’s fables, fantasy, and mythology, and never the twain shall etc. To me, the intent behind such a “lie” matters a great deal, with the Santa subterfuge being about as innocuous as “lies” can possibly come. On the other hand, belief in jolly old St Nick yields a great deal of joy and fun for a young kid.
The Ex also professed worry over how our daughter could ever trust Mom and Dad again after catching us out in the Great Santa Swindle, whereupon I flatly stated that I had never for a moment held it against my own parents once I figured things out and they had ‘fessed up to the unconscionable deception. In fact, if anything I appreciated my folks all the more, their having loved us enough to go to some small trouble to ensure we kept the faith for those precious few years a child is even susceptible to such things at all.
Some of the most fun I can remember having in my entire life is the breathless anticipation of Santa’s annual visit on Christmas Eve: me and my brother lying in bed all a-tremble, asking each other “HEY, was that sleighbells I just heard? WHAT’S THAT—sounded like reindeer hooves on the roof!” and such-like, until we finally nodded off to visions of whacking great piles of loot awaiting us under that beautiful tree on blessed Christmas morn. Christmas Eve was the one night of the year our folks had NO trouble getting us into bed, believe you me. The truth is, they had trouble keeping us from merrily turning in around dusk that night, which fell around 6 PM or so.
I think I’ve told the tale here before (yep, just checked, I have) about the year everybody got dirt bikes for Christmas, “everybody” being my dad, my little brother, and my two cousins right up the street. Somehow, my dad and uncle managed to get my brother’s shiny new Hodaka Dirt Squirt up the front steps, wrangle it around on the somewhat narrow front porch, and in through the front door without waking us young ‘uns, where we found it gleaming under some tinsel, bows, and tree ornaments bright and early in the morning. Given how much hassle it was to get the thing back outside again, the menfolk had indeed done themselves a mighty labor that Christmas Eve—all for the sole purpose of giving us a truly wonderful Christmas memory to cherish forever, courtesy of good old Santy Claus.
Yeah, I’m gonna hold THAT against ’em, the dirty deceiving liars. Bah. Humbug.
But however you may feel about keeping those Santa fires burning, or about creeping Christmas calendar-encroachment for nefarous commercial purposes, or about Scrooge Picard’s earliest appearance on record hereabouts, I can only quote the great Boris Karloff: Welcome, Christmas. Bring your cheer. Cheer to all Whos far and near. Christmas Day is in our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp.