TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

 A Politically Correct Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...

How to live in a world that's politically correct?

His workers no longer would answer to "Elves",

"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.

And labor conditions at the North Pole,

were alleged by the union, to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished without much propriety,

released to the wilds, by the Humane Society.

And equal employment had made it quite clear,

that Santa had better not use just reindeer.

So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,

were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his beautiful sleigh,

because the ruts were deemed dangerous by the EPA,

And millions of people were calling the Cops,

when they heard sled noises upon their roof tops.

Second-hand smoke from his pipe, had his workers quite frightened,

and his fur trimmed red suit was called "unenlightened".

To show you the strangeness of today's ebbs and flows,

Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose.

He went to Geraldo, in front of the Nation,

demanding millions in over-due workers compensation.

So...half of the reindeer were gone, and his wife

who suddenly said she'd had enough of this life,

joined a self help group, packed and left in a whiz,

demanding from now on that her title was Ms.

And as for gifts...why, he'd never had the notion

that making a choice could cause such commotion.

Nothing of leather, nothing of fur...

Which meant nothing for him or nothing for her.

Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot,

Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.

Nothing for just girls and nothing for just boys.

Nothing that claimed to be gender specific,

Nothing that's warlike or non-pacifistic.

No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.

Nothing that seemed to embellish upon the truth.

And fairy tales...while not yet forbidden,

were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden,

for they raised the hackles of those psychological,

who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football...someone might get hurt,

besides - playing sports exposed kids to dirt.

Dolls were said to be sexist and should be passe.

and Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled and perplexed,

he just couldn't figure out what to do next?

He tried to be merry he tried to be gay,

but you must have to admit he was having a very bad day.

His sack was quite empty, it was flat on the ground,

nothing fully acceptable was anywhere to be found.

Something special was needed, a gift that he might,

give to us all, without angering the left or the right.

A gift that would satisfy - with no indecision,

each group of people in every religion.

Every race, every hue,

everyone, everywhere...even you!

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...

"MAY YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES, ENJOY PEACE ON EARTH"

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST

My memories of Christmas don’t involve lavish gifts or miracles. No, Christmas during my younger years wasn’t like that at all. Although I must admit I don’t remember ever wanting something and not getting it eventually. My children would (in unison) tell anyone that ideology and practice is called "delayed gratification" and delayed gratification builds character. My memories of Christmas as a child have more to do with the simple things and of the people who touched my life each Christmas season. As a young child our tree always seemed so huge, but thinking back on it now, the tree was probably no better or bigger than any "Charlie Brown" type tree. If memory serves me correct, my father used to go out into the woods and cut our tree each year. My mother would probably have a different memory of that occasion and tell me he was too drunk to do that. 

Regardless of whose memory is correct, each year we did have a tree from the woods of Maine and the tree was amazing! Maybe the elves brought it! Who knows? What I remember most about the tree is how my cats loved it. The ornaments seemed to give them endless joy throughout the Christmas season. The one ornament I remember clearest were ones made of tiny pinecones and painted white. Somehow they were fashioned into looking like birds. Needless to say, the cats found them along with everything else hanging from the tree fair game and put there for their amusement. After all isn’t a Christmas tree just a giant green cat toy? 

I was a quick understudy as a child. My brothers taught me if a string was pulled across the gifts very slowly, the cats would "accidentally" tear open the wrapping paper just enough for a peek inside. Of course, we were always warned not to do that, but mysteriously each year the gifts almost looked shredded by the time Christmas would come along. Those pesky cats were so naughty at times! Some winters would be barren right up until Christmas Eve and then miraculously come Christmas morning everything would be dusted with snow. The new fallen snow added to the spirit of the season and the anticipation of getting outside after being penned up in the house was almost unbearable. New snow meant sledding and snowball fights! 

While at Barnes and Noble recently I saw a Christmas card that was so "me". The only reason I didn’t get it was because I didn’t like the verse written inside. I usually go for some "beachy" Christmas scene to send to all my friends and relatives up North, but this year I opted for a cute kitty card. The card at Barnes and Noble that I saw made me think of my misspent youth. The picture was a black and white shot of a little boy bundled up in winter clothing standing next to a metal pole (most likely a flagpole) with his tongue stuck to the pole. I can’t remember how many times as a child I used to do the same thing. Why? Just because I could and probably because I was told not to do it. I learned quickly just how quickly I had to remove my tongue so it wouldn't stick to the flagpole at school...others weren't so lucky! Guess what? I still have my entire tongue! 

Each Christmas morning after unwrapping our gifts, my brothers and I would clean up the mess while my mother cooked a meal fit for royalty. One year my mother told my brothers that when I stopped believing in Santa, we would start opening our gifts on Christmas Eve so that the house wouldn’t be such a mess the next day. Let me end this entry by sharing that at the ripe old age of 5, I opened my gifts on Christmas Eve and have been doing so ever since. You see, my family is so good every year that Santa puts my family at the very top of his delivery list.

*Repost from November 23, 2011