A Newfangled Christmas

We’d been going round and round like that for
three weeks. That’s when she brought that blasted thing home and
set it on my desk. I ignored it the whole first week. Pretended it
wasn’t there. Didn’t even exist. I thought maybe she would take the
hint.

Huh! I should have known it would have the
opposite effect. The more I ignored it, the more determined she was
that I’d fire it up. “I’ll fire it up,” I grumped under my breath.
“In the fireplace.” But I didn’t say it loud enough for her to
hear.

The next week she started in on me again.
“Just think of all the e-mails from good boys and girls all over
the world that are in your computer waiting to be read,” she would
say. Then she would dab a tear away as if she felt terrible.
“Aren’t you ashamed? They’re telling you all the things they
want--things they deserve for being so good--and you’re not even
listening.”

I couldn’t look her in the eye after she said
that. To tell you the truth, I am a little ashamed that I’m not
mechanical. Can’t even operate a can opener. I’ve always been good
with my hands, though. I love to make toys and things. And I won’t
kid you that I’m the best magician around. How many magicians do
you know who could load all those toys into one little sleigh at
sundown and get them delivered all over the world before the sun
comes up the next morning.

That’s not good enough for her. No, Siree!
She’s a modern woman! Up with the times! Or so she says.

But this week she’s really getting to me.
She’s on a hunger strike. Oh, she doesn’t call it that. She says
she’s just too sad thinking about all those poor children to eat a
bite. And, of course, according to her, if she’s too sad to eat,
she certainly is too sad to cook. Do you have any idea what that
means to a big guy like me? Starvation.

Well, I’ll have to admit, I was stumped this
time. I couldn’t last a single day without a meal. I started
thinking about her golden crispy fried chicken. Her tender juicy
roast beef. Her flaky mouth-watering cherry pies. Then I started
thinking about turning on the computer. When she wasn’t looking.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as it looked.

I stood in the middle of my comfortable old
office and looked around. Its desk was overflowing with papers. Its
leather chair was deep and soft. Model toys crowded the mantle
above the fireplace. Then I looked at the one thing in the whole
room that was out of place. The shiny metal monster sitting among
the familiar clutter on my desk. The computer.

I couldn’t help but shiver. The screen stared
back at me like a big accusing eye. If I didn’t turn it on pretty
soon, The Missus would kill me. She was already pointing to the
calendar. I know it’s October already, and if I don’t find out what
boys and girls want for Christmas pretty soon, I won’t have time to
get all the toys made.

The coast was clear. The Missus was out in
the yard with the elves making snow angels. The reindeer were in
the pasture practicing take-offs and landings. It was now or
never.

I tiptoed over to my desk, sort of like I was
sneaking up on that metal monster. I dropped slowly into my big old
leather chair. Then I scooched around on the seat until it felt
right. I wanted everything to be as near to perfect as it could
be.

“Probably won’t even be able to turn it on,”
I muttered hopefully.

Then I spied the button right above the
keyboard. Beside it were the words POWER on/off. So much for not
being able to turn it on.

I poked the button and right away the screen
lit up a bright blue. It came on so fast it startled me. From
somewhere inside came soft music. And then a bunch of little
pictures (I soon found out that they were called icons) popped up
all over my screen. I shook my head with wonder. It was hard to
imagine that kids all over the world did this sort of thing every
day.

“Now what do I do?” I wondered aloud. All the
little pictures had settled down. The computer seemed to be waiting
for me to make the next move.

“You get on the Internet, is what you do.”
The Missus’ voice came from behind me. Boy, I wish you could have
heard the sound of triumph in her tone. I wondered how long she’d
been standing there.

But I had more important things to worry
about. I knew that she knew what my next

question would have to be. I closed my eyes
and wrinkled up my face. I had to do it.

“And just how do I do that?” I finally
asked.

“Oh, Santa! I can’t believe my ears,” The
Missus cried and threw her arms around me. You’d have thought I had
just promised her a Caribbean cruise. The next thing I knew she had
snuggled into the chair next to me and was giving me a great big
kiss.

Then she started tapping like crazy on the
computer keys. I couldn’t believe my eyes. In just about half a
second The Missus had not only gotten on the Internet, she had
downloaded all my backed up e-mail. All nine million, seven-hundred
fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one messages!

“You don’t need to bother,” I said with a
sniff. She was carrying things a tad too far. “I’ve got the hang of
this contraption now,” I added, before she could argue.

The Missus went off to fix dinner (Thank
Goodness!), and I began reading the first letter.

Dear Santa Claus:

My name is Micah Mason and I have been a very
good boy this year.

I chuckled. They always say that. Even if
they haven’t. But I have ways to check up on them. I read the rest
of Micah Mason’s letter.

Don’t believe what my sister Ashley tells
Mom. She’s a liar! Anyway, I only want two things for Christmas
this year. One is my very own pizza restaurant. That way I can have
pizza anytime I want it and I won’t have to share with Ashley. The
second thing is an Electronic Spy Night Scope so that I can spy on
Ashley in the dark. Thanks. Have a good trip on Christmas Eve.
Love, Micah.

I sighed so deeply that I could feel it all
the way down to my toes. A pizza restaurant was bad enough. But
what in blue blazes was an Electronic Spy Night Scope? Spy in the
dark? I’d never heard of such a thing. I could tell right now, it
was going to be an interesting year. I knew I’d better not waste
any more time.

I got up to fetch my giant ledger. That’s the
book where every single boy and girl has a page of their own. On
that page I keep track of where they live and every toy they’ve
ever received at Christmas. Also whether they’ve been naughty or
nice. I couldn’t wait to see Micah’s page.

I keep my giant ledger on top of the book
shelves across the room from my desk. The shelves are filled with
story books that the kids ask for every year. I scooted my
step-stool over to the shelves, reminding myself that I should find
some place lower to keep that book. I’m not a spring chicken
anymore, you know.

The first step wasn’t so bad. The second one
made me feel a little bit wobbly. Only one more to go and I’d have
the ledger. I made it to the top and grabbed the book. As I swung
it out I remembered why I had meant to start a new ledger this
year. This old one weighed a TON.

Suddenly my head was over the ledger instead
of my feet. And my bottom was sticking out the other direction. All
this while I was on the tippy top of the stool.

I jerked up and tried to reverse things. Now
the ledger was sitting on my stomach, which was being pushed
forward from the back. My knees were starting to shake. How was I
ever going to get off that stool in one piece?

I thought about calling to The Missus for
help. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I’ve always been a take charge
sort of guy. I’d just have to figure out how to get off that stool
by myself.

Ever so slowly I pushed my right foot toward
the edge of the top step. If I could just step down one little
step, I’d be almost on the floor. I could feel my toes waving in
space. Now if I could get my heel that far without losing my
balance, maybe I’d make it.

Finally my heel was off the step. My whole
foot was stuck out in the air. Now what was I going to do? How was
I going to get it down to the next step without falling over?

“What on earth are you up to?” The Missus
shouted at me so hard it blew me right off that step-stool. I
landed with a THUD on my bottom with the ledger open in my lap.

“Well, I know what YOU’RE up to. You’re
tryin’ to get me killed!” I shouted back. I was mighty riled. How
dare she sneak up on me and scare me off the top of a ladder!

Then I saw the look on her face. And the
tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Santa,” she said in a trembly voice.
“I’m so sorry.” She knelt beside me and put her arms around me.
“Are you okay?”

My heart melted like it always does.
“Course,” I said. “What’s a little tumble to a guy like me?”

After a few grunts I made it to my feet. The
Missus wiped her tears, blew her nose and went back to the
kitchen.

Finally I was ready to enter Michael Moss’
Christmas wish into the ledger. Or had his name been Mitchell
Moses. Hmph! I’m getting forgetful these days.

I leaned over my desk to check my e-mail in
the computer and jumped back in surprise. Miles Martin’s e-mail had
disappeared. There weren’t ANY e-mails on the screen! Even those
little pictures that The Missus called icons weren’t there, either.
But there was something else there that was just plain weird, and I
don’t mind saying so. It was sort of like a video of eight or ten
snowmen having a big time sledding down a hill. Every time one of
them got to the bottom, he’d pull his sled up to the top, and go
down again. What was that video doing where my e-mail was supposed
to be?

I looked desperately at the key pad. Most of
the keys had letters and numbers printed on them, but some had
words. There was SHIFT and END and HOME. There were also words I
didn’t understand, like BK SP and DEL. But I couldn’t see anything
even close to VIDEO.

I swallowed hard. A terrible thought was
rising up in my brain like flood water in a basement. My e-mails
were gone. Eaten up by this horrible machine. All nine million,
seven-hundred fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one of
them. I wouldn’t forget that number for the rest of my life,
because that meant that there would be nine-million, seven-hundred
fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one children who
wouldn’t get toys from Santa Claus this Christmas. I would
disappoint every single one of them.

I put my head in my hands and sobbed. What
was I going to do?

Maybe I could notify the newspapers. Nah, I
thought. Kids don’t read newspapers. And I couldn’t expect parents
to see the notice and tell their children.

Radio? Maybe, but it still didn’t feel right.
Then the answer smacked me right in the face.

Television! All kids watch TV. I’d go to a TV
station and ask if I could be on the news. Then I could talk
directly to the boys and girls.

I thought about The Missus again and cringed.
I’d have to admit to her what I had done. She’d probably never let
me hear the end of it. Still, I couldn’t stand to disappoint even
one child on Christmas, much less nine-million, seven-hundred
fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one. And there was no
way I could keep a thing this big a secret from her. Maybe I would
take her along. She might even like the trip. She doesn’t get out
much.

I played with the idea for a while. I could
see it all. The reindeer could take us to town. When we got to the
television station I’d find the station manager and explain my
problem. Surely he’d understand.

Just then The Missus stepped through the
door. “Dinner’s ready, dear,” she said in her soft little
voice.

I turned around and saw her smile melt into a
look of puzzlement. Oh, oh, I thought. It’s too late now. She’s
looking at the computer screen.

Then she put her hands on her hips and said
in a saucy voice, “I thought you were hard at work in here, reading
your e-mails. And here I find you staring at your screen-saver.
Shame on you!”

Screen-saver? I wanted to act as if I knew
what a screen-saver was. But I knew better than to try to pull
anything on her. I squinched up my face and squeezed out the words,
“What’s a screen-saver?”

She didn’t answer. She just marched right
over to my desk, picked up the mouse and wiggled it. As if by magic
those sledding snowmen disappeared and Monte Miller’s e-mail was
right there in front of me. Right where it had been before. Except
I saw his name was Micah Mason.

Then she explained what a screen-saver was,
and I felt as embarrassed as a puppy who’d just been caught peeing
on the rug.