Let Bygones Be Bygones And Give This Thing One More Kick At The Can
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
Dear Santa:
I bet you are surprised to hear from me since my last letter (Dec. 26, 1947) could have been construed as a criticism of your choice of gifts. If you will recall, my missive questioned your ability to read. I regret referring to you as a moron and suggesting that it was time for you to pack up your bag of toys and retire to a home for the feeble-minded. But even you will have to admit that the error was yours.
When I asked for the Red Ryder B.B. gun as shown on page 137 (toys) of Eaton’s Catalogue, it boggles my mind that you somehow interpreted my request as two pairs of Stanfield long underwear with button flaps on page 317 (boy’s winter wear). Had I known you suffered from dyslexia, I would have been softer with my rebuke.
I also regret our disagreement didn’t end there. When I journeyed to Toyland the following December, I may have been somewhat uncomplimentary as I sat upon your knee. My conduct was inexcusable and you were well within your rights to call for security. However, I’m sure it shouldn’t have taken a dozen elves and eventually two members of Toronto’s Finest to subdue an eleven-year-old boy.
Our relationship deteriorated from that point on and your choice of future gifts began to show signs of a warped personality. As the years rolled by, I could not help but notice that either you had run out of money or your ability to understand the needs of a growing young man had gone down the pooper.
I can understand why I received nothing during your visit Christmas of 1947 since your face was still healing. Had I realized your snowy-white beard was in fact your own, I never would have yanked out several handfuls. I just assumed you and the Santa at Simpson’s were one and the same. His appeared to be of the same scruffy quality and was held on by elastic bands that draped over each ear. He also did not reek of gin but that is another matter and we will not discuss it here.
As I say, the quantity and quality of your presents began to show signs of a mean streak in your personality that should really be dealt with by a member of the psychiatric profession. In fact, I am copying this letter to the advisory board of the TV show, Criminal Minds. I hope they will forward it to someone who can give you the help you so desperately need.
On the other hand, one of the so-called humorous gifts you left in 1995 turned out to be a Godsend. I’m sure you thought a toilet plunger would upset me and in fact it did cause me to throw a tantrum that is still talked about whenever my family gathers and I have left the room. However that very afternoon one of the grandchildren attempted to pass what might have been a member of the watermelon family in the john. When several gallons of Tidy-Bowl decided to o’er-flow its porcelain banks, I was able to dislodge the blockage with little difficulty and for that I thank you.
That being said, I believe it is time for us to bury the hatchet and once again become friends. I am willing to accept some small part of the responsibility for our on-going feud, if you will admit that you have been an insensitive lout over the years.
Assuming that we are again in the small child-elderly benefactor relationship we once enjoyed before you suffered your mental breakdown or whatever it was to cause you to act like a complete ass, I am submitting my list for this Christmas.
You will be surprised to learn that my needs are simple, as are you. I neither require nor ask for much. I wouldn’t turn down a bottle or two of single malt scotch of course, but I really only want one small gift that I hope is in your power to grant.
I need a good job, Santa. My wife and I are elderly now, at least she is, but we could do with a steady income to help us face the vicissitudes of old age. Could you possibly use your connections with Mr. Ford and have him hire me and the missus to build the multi-billion dollar tunnel under the 401? All we will need is two round-nosed shovels and a wheelbarrow. Come to think about it, my back has been bothering me lately so all we will really need is one shovel. See we are saving the Province money already!
(Image Supplied)
