Garfield by Jim Davis for December 04, 2014

Years ago I worked in retail. One day there was a child in our register line who was a little brat: running around, yelling, tripping people, etc. His mother said to him, in a sing-songy voice, “Be good, or Santa won’t bring you any presents.” The child looked up at her defiantly and said, “I don’t care; Gramma is getting me stuff anyway.” I went home and wrote this:.Christmas Anxiety..“What does Christmas mean to you?”I asked the little childI waited as I looked at himMy mind was running wild.I knew that most kids thought aboutSanta for one thingAnd all the toys and goodiesAnd other things he’s bring.Toys and gifts and candySnowballs by the scoreSchool vacations, Christmas treesA wreath on every door.Lots of visiting relativesDressed in Sunday bestKissing aunts and cousinsUncomfortable at best.I anticipated thisUntil I heard him say“The little Baby JesusWas born on Christmas Day”.I hugged the child closelyMy eyes were filled with tearsFor Christmas is rememberedEven after all these years..© “Amalthea Celebras” K.C. Fahel 12 December 1983