Going through my recently passed mother’s effects, a green-inked, hand-addressed envelope catches my eye. I open it.
Marvin,
You told your mommy you don’t believe in me. You had better take it back, or no more presents.
Ho! Ho! Ho!
Santa Claus
The envelope is postmarked 1984, the year a six-year-old me insisted—over mom’s vehement protests—that Santa wasn’t real. 1984; the first year I didn’t receive a gift labeled ‘From Santa Claus.’
“Ah, damn it.” I mutter, barely audible, and think of all the Transformers, G.I. Joes, and He-Man action figures that ended up under the trees of other kids.
Great work! Bless Marvin
Thanks! Maybe Santa made good for Marvin down the road.
Oh Marvin, you don’t mess with the big man in red!
#believe, CC! ?
Hmmm. If Santa’s really true.
Poor Marvin , bless his heart, a walk on the memory lane was touching.