Around this time every year, many of us are faced with a question—“So, what do you want for Christmas?”
This was the greatest inquiry as a kid. I’d usually have a numbered list pre-prepared, neatly written on loose leaf paper. It’d include rankings and contingencies—“1) Super Mario Bros 3. 2) Double Dragon 3, but only if Super Mario 3 isn’t available.”—and any other hints I’d thought might aid Santa, my parents, grandparents or anyone else who might feel like buying me a gift.
I would also dutifully page through the Wish Book, a sinister piece of literature put out by Sears that included the year’s hottest gifts, and circle every item I might consider owning should someone hand it to me. I bet that was the longest book I read from cover to cover before high school.
But, as I get older, The List becomes less important. Loved ones sound like my doctor telling me to get bloodwork done—“You still haven’t finished your list yet? You shouldn’t put it off any longer. It’s for your own good.” I find myself picking items randomly just to satisfy the demand. I am now the guy who asks for socks for Christmas.
But, picking random items doesn’t seem to eliminate the need for a list. People still ask me why I haven’t written my Christmas list—or my monthly column—yet. So, I guess I’ll appease them.
Without further delay, what I really want for Christmas:
Health
It’s cheesy, I know, but I’d be remiss to exclude it.
Here’s the thing about health: when it’s fine, you don’t notice it. When something’s haywire, it’s all you think about. And haywire health means a trip to the doctor’s office, which I’m convinced is the worst possible thing for your health. Not because doctors are inept. Just because it seems like doctor’s visits breed more doctor’s visits, which means more time sitting in sterile, bland waiting rooms contemplating your health. Which, it turns out, is no good for your health.
It’s a vicious cycle, man.
An interview with Hamilton school superintendent James Parla
A quirk of this township is that some public officials don’t like to be all that public. I’ve had some literally run away from me as I sought comment for a story.
When one of those public officials announces he’s leaving town at the end of the year, he should probably expect the local newspaper will want to talk to him about it. So, in October, after school superintendent James Parla announced he’s retiring in January, he received a call from me trying to line up a sit-down interview with him. This has not gone well.
Since October, I’ve spoken to him once, where he said he couldn’t tell me anything. I have, however, spoken to his secretary many times, and have discerned she is a wonderful, hard-working employee who’s being used as a human shield. She has allowed me to schedule four meetings with Parla, and four times, she has called back to say apologetically that Parla canceled the meetings.
So, this is kind of like asking for a pony for Christmas. I’m not holding my breath. But seriously, it’d be nice, Doctor P, if you picked up the phone.
Family
As I’ve gotten older, my notion of family has become stretched beyond the traditional definition, and morphed into something you’d find printed on one of those knick knacks at Hallmark.
Those people would never replace my actual family, but, more and more, I realize you should be grateful for—and accountable to—the people who have welcomed you into their circle regardless of circumstance.
I guess I already have this, but it’s something I’d certainly love to keep.
Childlike wonder
The other day, my mother emerged from the basement with a box full of old Christmas decorations. She pulled a crumpled stocking from the box. “Robert, look what I found!” she shouted.
To this day, she reserves “Robert” for select moments, so I thought I had unwittingly left something hanging around I shouldn’t have.
I peeked around the corner to find her holding a Christmas stocking screened with Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. At its top, it read, “Have A Rad Christmas!” It was a relic, my stocking when I was 5.
The past few months, I had been feeling worn down, but I felt something stir inside me in that moment. Without thinking, I let out a “Whoa!” more suited to someone decades younger.
I can’t be sure—that stirring could have been what I had eaten for lunch—but I choose to believe it was a bit of the me of my youth reawakening. It reaffirms my belief that if there’s anything that can shake humanity out of the doldrums, it’s the season we’re about to enter.
Have a rad Christmas, everyone.
