The 7-year-old hurricane boy and the 8-year-old, never-do-any-wrong princess girl are still basking in the glow of Santa Claus. The little boy received an arsenal of toy tanks, machine guns and other type weapons of mass destruction, such that he now qualifies as the third-largest military power in the world, only behind the United States and China.
He also received a collection of Rambo movies who as far as I can tell has now moved into first place among American heros, removing George Washington from this anointed position.
The little girl received a grand piano for her American Girl doll which is about 1/24th the size of a real grand piano and approximately the same cost as a real size one. She also received a remote controlled flying fish, which looks somewhat like a downscaled blimp that flies through the house operated by a mechanical tailfin. The fish cannot be taken outside because it is filled with helium and would probably float away.
I’m not sure who developed this idea, but I think it is a testament to the power of daily marijuana smoking or something similar.
She also received an iPod, which means she is now effectively removed from all communication with the known living, breathing world as she walks around with earphones in her ears listening to God knows what.
A few days prior to Christmas, I stopped by my law office with the two of them to catch a quick workout. We purchased a vacant building beside the law office a few years ago and part of the building remained unfinished, with the walls in rough shape, etc. I decided this room would make an excellent place for my workout equipment and moved my workout bench, treadmill, exercise bike, etc. into this room.
Truth be known, the most exercise I got was moving the equipment from my house to the room until deciding to work out the other day.
The little princess is a budding artist and asked could she draw a mural on the wall of workout scenes. The walls are in pitiful shape, so I agreed she could draw whatever she wished. She drew pictures of men lifting weights, boxing in a boxing ring and flexing their muscles. Each wore a t-shirt with the letter “T” across the front.
She wrote inspirational sayings such as, “T is getting stronger every day” and, beside the boxing ring “maybe he will or maybe he won’t.”
As a father, these drawings are near and dear to my heart, but they are obviously in the form you might expect from an 8 year old, even if she is showing some signs of artistic talent.
The little hurricane had never seen these drawings or been in the room. He began to study the drawings quite seriously and read all of the quotes. Then he began to gaze upward with a look that only the hurricane can have that means I am seriously contemplating a matter and watch out, what comes next could be anything.
He waited until his sister had wandered away a short distance, leaned toward me, pulled my head down so he could whisper in my ear, and said, “You know, dad, maybe you should have gotten this done professionally.”
Unfortunately, the hurricane learned to whisper in a sawmill and the little princess overheard him.
She announced that this was very unkind and that Santa Claus would now place him on the naughty list. He responded, as usual, by making machine gun noises.
I spent the better part of the next day assuring the princess that the mural was top class. The hurricane sought repentance and fully confessed to eight or 10 wrongdoings for which I had previously had no knowledge.
I, acting as a confessional priest, accepted the confessions, announced past transgressions pardoned and the hurricane then struggled to stay on the good list for the remaining one day.
You know, there is just nothing like Santa Claus and Christmas, but maybe next year, I’ll get it professionally done.
Contact columnist T. Gamble at firstname.lastname@example.org.