December 1st

As a kid, my room was a lot cleaner this time of year.  If shaving was a necessity back then, I certainly would have shaved each day... this time of year.

Gotta be a good boy, Santa's coming soon.

My room is a mess.  I have a patchy poor man's beard sadly sprouting from my face.

Dear Santa, I wish I still believed in you.


Something about my grumpy neighbor across the street.  He's gotta be close to eighty.  I greet him as warmly as I can all year long.  His shifty eyes, his lack of a reaction, his strange demeanor: I swear he's got some good stories to tell.

It's December 1st.  There he is.  Today.  Hanging up Christmas Lights.  And even a simple manger scene.

Baby Jesus, don't be afraid.

I am inclined to sneak over there tonight and comfort that plastic baby Jesus.

Something about my grumpy neighbor hanging up Christmas Lights.

I went outside today to grab my mail and he waved at me.  He waved first.

My grumpy neighbor hanging up Christmas Lights waved at me.



Maybe, I see a little of myself in that man. 


I thought it would be a good idea to avoid driving this month.  Those 24 hours of Christmas songs on that one specific radio station leave me with goosebumps.  I don't like the longing it leaves me:  the longing for a family, the longing for the love of my life to decide, the longing for the dealer to give me some new cards.

I don't like being alone.  "Utterly alone", just like Nicholas Cage says in The Family Man.

It's my childhood all over again.

Dear Santa, I've been a good boy.  I swear.


I went driving today.  Just to hear those songs.

Somehow, some way, I ended up in the parking lot of Toys R Us.  I was never a Toys R Us kid. 

Something about reliving those days of toy envy which now has evolved to family envy and love envy and Christmas Envy.

God, I hate commercialism.  And the irony of that statement rolls through my fingers as I type away on the most commercially programmed social network known to man.

I came home from my short drive and passed my grumpy neighbor's home.  For a brief second, I considered "borrowing" his plastic Baby Jesus and sticking it into a baby stroller and returning to Toys R Us.

I want to hear what a cute baby I have.  I may even let a few strangers pinch his little plastic cheeks. 

I've got dreams.  And hopes.  High aspirations.

And I have faith.

It's my strongest ally.  My faith.

And I don't really believe I am all alone.

And I am not too upset about the hands I've been dealt.

It's Christmas.

The holiday where grumpy men hang up Christmas lights and wave at their neighbor in the warmest of ways.

I just hope no one steals my plastic Baby Jesus.