by BD Mitchell
To Santa Claus, a message from A Disappointed Parent – a holiday in verse.
Dear Santa, this is Sammy’s dad – I hope this finds you well.
Oh by the way, I mean to be sarcastic – can’t you tell?
And maybe you will find this odd, a letter from a grown-up,
But with the week I’ve had, I think you really need to own up.
It’s on behalf of my son Sam that I compose this note;
We wonder if you did in fact read anything he wrote?
Now, I refer specifically to poor Sam’s Christmas letter,
On which a single item sat: a brand-new Christmas sweater.
I know, I know, I too was shocked – there’s no harm in admitting
How odd a child of eight must be to yearn for gaudy knitting.
And yearn he did! For weeks it seemed, he did no more than sit there;
With eyes a-gleam and crayons in hand he sketched his ideal knitwear.
I must confess that Jill and I were vexed by little Sam;
We offered toys and games – but no, he didn’t give a... dang.
His course was clear, his mind was set, we thought he’d been bewitched!
How else can you explain this strange desire for something stitched?
And this is where you come in, Claus, your role in this snafu;
With Christmas season looming near, I told Sam to ask you.
“Ask Santa Claus!” I said to him. “He’ll bring your cardigan!
But maybe, to be extra sure, go rake the yard again.”
Oh, he was on his best behavior, there can be no doubt!
The switch from dreams to chores was quite a welcome turnabout.
And when the postman passed the mailbox every day at four,
He took to your North Pole address Sam’s letters by the score.
A random letter, for example, reads, “Dear Santa Claus,
I was a good boy all year long – I promise that I was!
I did my homework and my chores, I couldn’t have been better,
So Santa, please, on Christmas Eve, bring me a Christmas sweater?”
“I want it white and red and green, with reindeer on the sleeves,
And cover it with snowflakes – don’t forget the holly leaves!
Oh please don’t bring more games or toys and please don’t bring a bike;
A happy Christmas sweater is the only thing I’d like!”
Imagine, Kringle, if you would, his shock and his despair
When Christmas morning came and went... and not a stitch was there.
There was a racing bike, of course (in pieces, naturally)
And some new-fangled gizmo sat unloved beneath the tree.
But missed at once, without delay, was any faintest sign
Of Item One: “a Christmas sweater” propped against the pine.
It’s been a week since then and still his eyes are full of tears;
And even proffered store-bought sweaters fall upon deaf ears.
And so I say to you, Saint Nick, I’m most dissatisfied;
I hope your focus holds much stronger come the next Yuletide.
Until then I’ll attempt to raise poor Sammy’s dismal mood;
Perhaps a festive New Year’s vest would shake this attitude.
But be forewarned, I will not stand for one more oversight;
Deny Sam one more sweater and I’ll show you Silent Night!
I’ll brick the hearth, I’ll loose the dog, I’ll swap out all the deadlocks
If you should try – no, should you dare bring one more stupid Xbox!