Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Is it you, or is it me? We’ve grown apart – we barely communicate, and we hardly ever see each other. Our correspondence is almost non-existent. I write you, but you never write back; you used to slide into my house once a year (usually when I was asleep) and throw some presents under the tree and leave. Although I no longer need you to bring me stuff (I can buy my own now), would it hurt to stop in and talk for a few minutes when you’re in the area?  Tell me, is that any way for someone to act? Perhaps it’s normal for you, but I don’t like it.  

I realize this is your busy time of year – I guess everyone’s busy. We used to be quite close, you and I. What happened? Is it something I said? Surely, you must know that I forgive you for all those undelivered gifts. As I have matured, (yes, even me – check the list) I realize that no one gets everything they ask for and that sometimes the answer is no (I was probably too old for Marvel the Mustang anyway).

It doesn’t seem that long ago when I would crawl up on your lap and we would talk. While it’s true I no longer expect to sit on your lap, I certainly don’t want you sitting on mine. To be honest, from the pictures I have seen you seem to have gained weight. Why it’s true that nobody likes a skinny Santa, morbidly obese just isn’t healthy. Perhaps you should consider walking between the houses that are in the same neighborhood, much like the mail carriers do. Most houses don’t have chimneys anyway, try knocking on the door; I think you’ll find that many people would be happy to see you.

I don’t really need anything, but if you come by the house this year can you drop off a normal Christmas tree? My wife found this short, sparsely limbed, artificial thing, and it’s standing in the corner pretending to be a Christmas tree. I tell you Santa, if this continues I won’t be surprised to see a blue, aluminum fixture sitting on a top of a table in a year or two.

You know it takes two to keep a friendship going. I suppose I could write more than once a year, but if you never write back what’s the point? When I see you at the shopping malls you hardly acknowledge me. A wink or a nod would be nice. Last year you waved at me, and I had hopes that perhaps we could have a coffee or a hot chocolate together, but like I said you don’t answer my letters.

I don’t remember exactly when it was that you and I lost touch – but I think it was about the same time when little Jackie Paper and Puff the Magic Dragon quit being life-long friends.

As the song tells it, “A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys, painted wings and giant’s rings make way for other toys. One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more.”

It seems Jackie and I grew up. You know when I think about it Santa, I guess it is me. I’m sorry.