I’ll blame my wife and children for their excesses. I’ll rail against the wanton materialism and mess that they create. I’ll complain about every single one of them for the next year. Despite my wife’s desperate protestations, I buy it all.Īnd it’s true. I may – no, I will – complain for the next 364 days that my children have too many toys, too many gizmos, too much clothing, too much molded, colored plastic, but on Christmas Day, all of those concerns disappear. They want the items on their damn wish list. Perhaps this was my parents not-so-subtle hint that I should be lifting weights, but kids don’t want not-so-subtle hints for Christmas. I had never expressed any interest in lifting weights. My thirteenth birthday, for example, when the only gift under the tree for me was an envelope instructing me to go to the garage.Īm I getting a car? I don’t have a driver’s license yet, but who the hell cares? I’m getting a car!
The disappointment of a Christmas present gone terribly awry.
The Christmas mornings less enchanting than others. I thought that catalogs died alongside the TV Guide and the phone book? Where do my children find these things? How do they smuggle them into our home without me noticing? And why have these publications taken the place of children’s literature as their primary form of reading?īut as they begin circling items for their wish list, wanting a particular piece of molded plastic or an electronic doodad possessing more computing power than Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had on Apollo 11, I am reminded of my own childhood. Somehow catalogs filled with LEGOs, Playmobiles, American Girl dolls, and more migrate into the home, filling tables and counterspace with glossy images of idealized, joyous children playing with magnificent, pristine toys in strangely artificial landscapes. How could I not? It’s Santa Claus.īy mid-October, as my children are still debating about a dozen Halloween costume options, the brainstorming of Christmas lists begin. For the “low, low cost” of just $25 per child, my children can sit on Saint Nick’s lap and have a photo taken that we probably won’t ever look at again.
I receive an email informing me that Santa Claus will be visiting our local recreation center in December.
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