A letter from Santa

"Santa Claus" wrote this fun letter to our kids a couple of weeks ago. If you have time read it. Maybe "Santa" needs to write to your kids.

Dear Miles, Caleigh, Griffin and Elliot:

That time of year has come when I’m forced to put away the fishing pole and dust off the Naughty-Nice list. In the past—as is tradition—I have kept all information on the list confidential, except for rare occasions when I have needed to consult the chief elves on a discrepancy, or when there has been something just plain funny that I wanted to share with the wife. But at the advice of my new lawyer, Biff Sniffwhiffer, I feel it is best to share the contents of the list with you children.

I won’t bore you with all the details of why I am doing this, except to say there are some particularly feisty little boys and girls out there, with lawyers much brighter than Mr. Sniffwhiffer, who have felt blind-sided, bamboozled, hoodwinked, cheated, buffaloed, snow-balled, conned, deceived, swindled, duped, fooled, humbugged, rooked and flimflammed on Christmas morning, all simply because their parents didn’t properly relay to them where exactly they might be on the Naughty-Nice list.

Case in point. A little boy named Allen Parcell of Lincoln, Nebraska, who I’ll call “Steve” to protect his identity, received a three-pack of poly-cotton blend Fruit-of-the-Looms last year rather than the Dance-Dance Revolution Wii game he was expecting, because he had failed to clean his room on five occasions, had pinched his little sister twice, had stuck a wad of gum under the couch cushion, and had disturbed his dad’s naps on numerous occasions. Under the traditional model, Steve’s parents would have informed him that he had moved significantly down the Naughty-Nice list—not so far to receive a lump of coal, but nowhere near the electronics-and-video-games level reserved for quasi-angelic children.

Due to the negligence of Steve’s parents and a sternly written letter by Steve’s lawyer, I was forced to make a return trip to Nebraska on the 26th of December with the Wii game (we were out of Dance-Dance Revolution, so he got a lame polar bear game instead), thus delaying my pre-Kwaanza brunch, and forcing me to forfeit my spot in the canasta tournament that followed.

So you see my predicament. I wish things could go back to the way they were when your parents were little: children obeyed their parents, were kind to their brothers and sisters, randomly cleaned the house, and always seemed to smell nice. But these are tough times. Children have become much less predictable in this Cartoon Network age. Hygiene as a whole has diminished. As the Naughty list continues to grow exponentially, and the Nice list all but vanishes, I have no choice but to tip my cards and divulge my secrets.

I also do this in hopes that children who find themselves dangerously close to the Naughty list will take these next couple of months to polish up their halos and dust off their angel wings and become the wonderful little boys and girls I know they can be.

But mostly it’s to avoid lawsuits and return trips.

If you disagree with any of these results, please consult your parents before sending me any angry emails.

Miles: One of my elves, a redheaded chap named Schmecklepitz (a leprechaun who recently converted to elfism) tells me you have asked for a Millennium Falcon. I’ll say this much about it. Yes, you’re on the Nice list, but I’m not sure you’ve reached the giant-Star-Wars-toy level. Currently, you’re between the action-figure-you-didn’t-ask-for and the glow-in-the-dark-one-piece-pajamas level. This is a tough spot to be in. With only a few months until Christmas, not all hope is lost, but I only have three Millennium Falcons to give away this year, and Schmecklepitz tells me the Jo-Bros have already asked for them. I’m prevented from discussing the Jo-Bro’s placement on the Naughty-Nice list because of recent CRAP laws (Christmas Rights and Privacy), but I will say that you’re up against some stiff competition. Here are the three things I recommend you do that might secure a Millennium Falcon: keep your room spotless between now and Christmas, listen to your parents the first time they tell you to do something, and when they make you mad, just say, “OK, Mom,” or “OK, Dad.” Does that sound reasonable?

Caleigh: I’m not sure where to begin. You bounce around the Naughty-Nice list faster than a rubber ball in a port-a-potty. You do pretty well, but then those temper tantrums come. No elf need tell me about them. Just last week a polar ice cap split in half when you started freaking out about something Elliot did. I grabbed my 72-hour kit and ran for the bomb shelter. So my advice is simple: no more temper tantrums, and no more kicking your door. Also, stop pinching, hitting and kicking your brothers. This sounds like a lot to ask, but I’ve got some pretty cool presents lined up for you if you can just stay on the Nice list for a few more months.

Griffin: If you were any nicer, I’d have to create a Downright-Perfect list. Great job buddy. But unfortunately, being Nice isn’t quite enough. I have one specific request for you: work on your reading. Ask your mom what a good reading goal could be between now and Christmas, and then achieve the goal. I know you can do it. Schmecklepitz showed me your Christmas list, and I think most of that stuff is doable.

Elliot: What does Santa say? What does Santa say? HO HO HO. Kisses?

I hope this brings everyone up to speed on their Naughty-Nice list placement. My hope is that you can get the presents you want. But if not, then I at least hope there are no feelings of betrayal on Christmas morning. You know where you stand. You know what to do. If you’re confused, ask your parents: they’ll tell you where you are on the Naughty-Nice list and how you can move up it. And don’t forget, your parents are also reporting your behavior to me via e-mail each week—so really, it’s them you need to suck up to.

Good luck!

Santa Claus

P.S. I’m expecting a chocolate-chip whoopie pie and a tall glass of eggnog left out this year.

P.P.S. And some of those chocolate orange sticks.