Nervous Old Saint Nicholas

My love of the arts came from my parents. My mother made sure we were exposed to the theater and always made sure my brother and I took the time to enjoy reading and writing. My father made sure we knew about music...everything from classical to Motown. Do that to children long enough and they start to crave crap. Hence, my love for TV. My parents, quite reluctantly, started me off gently when it came to my viewing selection. A little public television here, a little Electric Company there ( Hey you guuuuuuuuys!!!!!!), and that was all I needed.

When my younger brother got into TV and started to develop different tastes, a war was declared. Who would get to watch what they wanted on TV, was dependent upon who turned on the TV first. Since we were a one TV home, strategy had to come in to play. So on Saturday mornings, I had to make sure I was up by 6:30 am to sit through some random televised church service that I pretended to watch with interest just so I could have control over the TV at 7:00am when the cartoons started. There was no sharing when it came to Saturday cartoons. Sharing was for the playground...babies went to the playground. Big kids watched Thundercats.

It was early one Saturday morning before Christmas and I had staked out my place in front of the TV, when I heard my Dad creeping down the stairs.

"Hey Kiddo, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm waiting for cartoons to start." It was a Saturday, what did he think I was doing?

"Well I have a favor to ask you. I need to help Santa, do you want to come with me?"

My curiosity was piqued.

"What do we have to do?" I asked.

Here was Dad's Christmas fib..."Santa told me he's really busy this year, so he wants me to pick up some gifts for you and your brother at the mall. Do you want to come show me what you and your brother were going to ask Santa for?"

I bought it hook line and sinker. I jumped in the car eager to assist my Dad in shirking his Christmas shopping duties. I didn't even have to fight for the front seat. It was going to be a great day! Heading to the mall, we were listening to the radio, telling jokes and being generally annoying. Being generally annoying is what we do. Apparently for my Dad, this meant grabbing my leg right above my knee. Some people think that's a great tickle spot. I didn't. It threw me and I reacted with instinct. I balled my fist and whacked my Dad in the crotch. I saw it on TV once. oops. BIG OOPS. Dad swerved the car and hit me in the back of my head. Because the car swerved, the side of my head hit the passenger window. I started screaming!!!!! My Dad freaked out and assured me that if I calmed down, promised never to hit him him like that, and swore not to tell Mom, I could have anything I wanted in the store. Sweet.

We went into the toy store and I went nuts. Shopping is so much better when blackmail is involved. I got Transformers, My Little Pony's, and two Cabbage Patch Dolls. I even got a Princess Leia costume. This was awesome!!!!! As Dad and I carried all my new toys out to the car, I noticed something on our windshield.

"Dad, There's a note on our car!"

My dad walked around to the side of our car and lifted the windshield wiper that held down the anonymous note. It read:

"Hey Asshole. I was in the car behind you. I saw you hit your wife. I've got your license plate number. I'm calling the cops."

The color left his face and I think I saw my Dad panic for the first time. I read the note and all I could think of was how weird it was that someone would leave a note like that. My Dad turned to me and said, "I think we have to tell Mom what happened now." All I could think to say was, "Well, do I have to return these presents then?"

We went home and told Mom. The cops never contacted us. I didn't have to return the gifts. In fact, we all got a lot of gifts that year. That's my Christmas story. Happy Holidays.