I cuddled Drew on my lap the other night and asked him what he was asking Santa to bring him for Christmas. He replied without hesitation.
“A Coke machine, a laptop, and an Xbox,” he said.
“Whoa, there,” I answered. “Quit joking with me. What do you really want?”
Drew squirmed around and looked at me, his pale blue eyes unblinking as he repeated earnestly,” A laptop computer, a Coke machine that gives real Cokes, and an Xbox, but I would take a Playstation.”
I grimaced. And then as gently as possible, I explained to him that while Santa has access to all kinds of presents, he doesn’t deliver items that will interfere with a family’s rules, so Drew wouldn’t be getting an Xbox or a Playstation for Christmas.
Drew’s face got red and he leaned his head into my shoulder as I continued.
“Coke machines are more for office buildings and gyms than houses, ” I went on, “and I don’t like to keep a lot of Cokes around here. Santa knows that. So you shouldn’t count on him bringing a Coke machine either,” I informed him.
My shoulder started to feel moist.
“And we don’t need a laptop,” I said. “We have a computer and my laptop, and that’s plenty of computers for one household. Eight-year-olds generally don’t need their own laptops, anyway. I think you ought to think up some fun toys you want Santa to bring you, like some Legos or maybe a fancy CD player.”
Drew was really sobbing now.
Finn (a non-believer,) Bill and I all tried to cheer him up and encouraged him to think up some other items to put on his Christmas list, but Drew was having none of it. He picked at his dinner and went to bed early.
If a LEGO Dino Attack Iron Predator vs. T-Rex, a CD player and a varied assortment of CDs intended to increase his music knowledge (The Commodores’ Ultimate Collection, so he’ll be able to sing along to “Brick House” at wedding receptions, The Clash: Singles, for some punk exposure, Janis Joplin – Greatest Hits, because he needs it, and #1 Hits of the 80s, so he can experience the decade that was “Private Eyes” and “Come on Eileen”) don’t send him into a frenzy of pleasure, I’ve seriously misjudged him.
I’m in a state of suspense. On Christmas morning, will his sorrow break a little piece of my heart? Or will Bill and I have the pleasure of teaching our sons to walk like Egyptians once all the gifts are opened?
Either way, it promises to be unforgettable.