My Christmas List for Santa
By W. F. Twyman, Jr.
It is that time of the season. My daughter circles overhead as a long line of planes wait to land at the airport. No drones, just real manmade airplanes. The Christmas tree mocks me from an unopened box on the floor. A lame Charlie Brown tree sits lonely on the coffee table. My wife lies in bed. I just heard a podcaster say She was hired because she was pretty, young and female. Fog is in the air. Christmas lights are not up.
Last night, I became my own Secret Santa. I drove down the hill to Barnes and Noble. Some men hang out at hotel bars. I walk past these bar flies every evening after work. I hang out in the stacks at Barnes and Nobel. I was on a mission yesterday as I parked my car. I wanted a book for Christmas. I desired to read about a man disfavored by my close family. So, I had to become my own Santa if I hoped to find the biography under the tree on Christmas morning.
In our family now, we dutifully submit our Christmas list for Santa to family members. I only ask Santa for books. I love to read. There is no greater joy for me on Christmas morning than a favored book under the tree. Sadly, Santa imposes a litmus test. If my wish is suspect, I am more likely to find coal under the tree than The War on the West by Douglas Murray. I had to transform myself into Santa and gift myself The War on the West which was an excellent read by the way.
Anyway, I thirst for Elon Musk by Walter Isaacson. Elon Musk is the wealthiest man in the world. Isaacson may be the lead biographer of our time. That is my mindset but Santa is a strong partisan around these parts. So, I bought Elon Musk. I look forward to wrapping the book on Christmas Eve and opening up my present from Santa on Christmas Day.
As you can see, I have a dysfunctional relationship with Santa. One of the things about being married is adapting to the habits and customs of a wife. I was always bemused on Christmas morning when our children were young. I marveled at how many presents my young children received under the Christmas tree every year from Santa. Present after present after present. It was like an hours long performance with the music, unwrapping protocols, timed restraints on the opening of presents, and the obligatory reign of mother in law. My childhood memories of Santa were more spartan, a sense of sister more loved than me by Santa. My Case Against Santa might be an essay someday.
Now that I am a full-grown man, I will not be denied my Christmas desire/smile. Elon Musk will greet me under the (now unopened) Christmas tree.
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My other wishes for Santa this Christmas are all books. I submitted my list to Santa weeks ago:
The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin
Infinite Jest: by David Foster Wallace
Martin Eden by Jack London
The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kunder
Conclusion: My daughter’s flight has been rerouted to Phoenix. Who knows when she will arrive home today! My cell phone is blowing up. Everyone in the family is outraged, except for me. The little things don’t matter in the long run. I take things in stride. My daughter will be home for Christmas.
“Let my baby come home!!”
“Look at this map of circling before they abducted us to another state.”
“Mommy are you still here”
“I hope you get some type of compensation”
“Lmao”
Dad: Another bemused Christmas