I'm fed up with Christmas. It's over between us. I'm tired, frustrated, & just a wee bit ambiguous about the whole durn season.
You may recall that I'm a teacher. High School. English, to be precise. Oh, & Journalism, too. I'm adviser to both the newspaper & the yearbook at Our Humble High School.
"Whatcha need, sweet pea?"
"Do I need to be PC?"
"I don't know, do you?"
"I mean in the newspaper."
"What's the topic?"
"We're writing a Top 10. About things to do over winter break."
At that point, I was sure that my journalistas were planting the seeds of insurrection again. I knew for a fact that they probably were going to start writing about sex. I played it cool, though. Didn't reveal the panic that was welling up inside of me like a liter of Coke after some chemistry students drop a couple of Mentos down its throat.
"O-kaaaaayyyyy..." I offered. Long & drawn out, just like that. Yup, sex, for sure, was on their agenda. I just knew it.
"Well, we wanted to say something funny about Santa."
That's it. Better censor them now before Principal Man gets to 'em. Or worse, calls me down to his office for another 2-hour pow-wow.
"O-kaaaaayyyyy...like what?" I presented a poker face. Didn't want to reveal my hand.
"Like, maybe, one of our Top 10 could be, like, Cut in line at the mall to sit on Santa's lap. Make a little kid cry. Like maybe something like that." Remember, my journalistas are teenagers~average age, 16. They think making little kids cry is downright lol.
I waited, quasi-patiently, for the punchline. My cherub needed some prompting, was all.
"Oh, that's it. Are we allowed to, like, mention Santa in the newspaper?"
"Well, sure. He's a secular holiday figure, after all."
"What's that? That's not like, something about sex, is it?"
Only if Santa ends up in jail, sweet pea. And no, I didn't say that to her. But I sure did want to.
Hope your season is filled with joy. No, not that kind. This is a family blog, after all...
Grandma won't get run over by a reindeer this season, will she?
Your friend, Mrs. Scribe