Christmas Breath

As a kid, there is no day more anticipated than Christmas morning. Who among us has not tossed and turned the night away Christmas Eve wondering what bounty awaited us in the next room, or if that sound we heard might be Santa, and why the heck mom and dad were up past midnight – what did they want to do, see if they could scare off the fat man? They were really toying with fate then, and I for one did NOT appreciate their flippant attitude toward the rules (Santa only comes when everyone’s asleep ya know).

One year, I specifically remember getting a Ken “Barbie Doll” for Christmas. There is no way I will actually admit to asking for a Ken doll for Christmas … even though my sister wouldn’t let me play with her because I didn’t have any Barbie Dolls, so I’m pretty sure that the error in my gift was a direct result of Santa being hurried at my house because my parents were up REALLY late, probably cooking broccoli or something.

As the years went on, and I got that inevitable question, “What do you want for Christmas?” my tastes changed. Early on of course, you can’t WAIT for someone to ask you that.

Aunt: “Honey, what do you want f…”
Me: “I want a Hot Wheels smash’em set with the super launcher sky ramp and ultra cool realistic fire simulation lights”
Aunt: “… for Breakfast?”

The younger years the answers were predicable and repetitive. “I wanna tractor and a baseball glove!” No matter who asked me, the answer was always “I wanna tractor and a baseball glove!”

Although very amusing for our parents who would use this phrase as a cue for a nightly act that they were producing in our living room. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry that happened to walk in the door was followed by “Ask him what he wants for Christmas … isn’t it cute!? ”

We as kids soon figured out there must be a better way. We got more than 2 presents every year, and most of them were clothes. If we could just figure out how to replace “clothes” (which was an OBVIOUS replacement gift) with “toys” then we could be into some serious loot.

Once elementary school rolled around, I began an ingenious list system. From Aunt Theresa I would ask for the GI Joe Jeep, from Grandma the Transfomers Car, From SANTA I would go for the gold … the Big Wheel! This was a foolproof task – spreading out the wealth, hedging my bets, making sure my bases were covered. Flawless.

Christmas day rolled around and I discovered that Aunt Theresa must have been forgetful, Grandma couldn’t hear very well, and Santa “didn’t have room on his sleigh”. Bunch of Reindeer poop, that’s what that is.

I needed to start refining my system. I began to spend my Sunday afternoons going through the newspapers. My parents found this quite amusing, their son was interested in current events. Occasionally I would take something back to my room and put it in my drawer. How cute. But by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, or as I liked to refer to it “The Asking Season” I rolled out an elaborate, illustrated, and thoroughly mapped out decision tree for anyone I thought should be obligated to buy me a present .. which included everyone from Mom to the Mailman. I had cut, pasted, and itemized lists of everything I wanted along with handouts to the respective purchasers. There were diagrams, alternate purchases, current inventory lists of local stores, and on at least one occasion a hastily edited VHS tape of commercials dedicated solely to the Atari gaming system.

Of course times change, and so do tastes. My requests took on different looks, from toys, to video games, to sports equipment, car stereos, and eventually back to clothes.

The number of people I have requested things from has also changed, from 2039, to 82, 5 and eventually 1 or 2. The past few years though, my request has always been the same.

Mom: “What do you want for Christmas?”
Me: “An extra 2 hours of sleep.”

And yet, I still get the Christmas morning wakeup call at 5am wondering where I am. I drag myself out of bed, grab my keys, and drive over to mom’s house. Don’t bother to shower, put on anything other than PJ’s, and drive zombie like across town.

I guess Mom gets a lot of these lists each year for Christmas presents. The lists may not include “sleep” per se, but something that she can’t really purchase for us, you know, like “world peace”, a television that doesn’t play political hate ads, or “Berkshire Hathaway”. So with her limited ideas, Mom tends to make things up that she thinks we will like. Scarves (which are particularly nice since it’s about 98 degrees at Christmas in Mobile), Brazil nuts (that can’t be cracked with a vice grip and a pound of napalm), and Altoids.

I know, who doesn’t like Altoids. She gives Altoids to everyone, and eventually, don’t ask me how, everyone finds a way to hide them in the boxes that go home with me. Because no one has a need for multiple boxes of altoids at home, the wife makes sure that they go to work with me.

So here is a picture of my desk at work showing what the culmination of my Christmas present prowess has brought to me. Obviously the not showering, and probably not brushing my teeth in my half sleeping stupor has given me Christmas breath and my family is giving me the hint.