You might think my age (2 and a half years) would be a disadvantage when it comes to writing, but it isn’t. I can’t yet speak fluent English, but I can write with the best of the area’s literary rug rats. In fact, after my last column ran in the Times-Herald, a rival publication approached me and wanted me to pen a regular piece for them called “Kiddie Kommentary.” I consulted my trusted rep GD (short for Grand Dad you may recall) and later told them I wasn’t interested.
But I did tell GD I’d do a holiday retrospective for him. I like GD and would do most anything for him. He loves the English language, as I do, but at the same time he doesn’t always try to be cute and alliterative like those other bozos and their misplaced “K.” Did they honestly think I’d lend my name to something so callow?
Anyway, the holidays are over, the company gone, and the house is back to normal. I have mixed emotions. On the one hand it was great having relatives around for a couple of weeks besides mom and dad – new people to indulge and adore me. Not that mom and dad don’t indulge and adore me. They just don’t do it all the time like GD and the rest do. On the other hand, I’m sort of glad the relatives are gone. Face it, after a while, they get to be a bit of a bother. The worst thing is they’re always taking pictures – stills and videos both, yapping at me incessantly, telling me to look this way and that, say this and that, or do this and that. After a couple of days I started to feel like a celebrity on the run from kinfolk Paparazzi. Put the @!$# camera away why don’t you? Give it a rest!
We had a tree in the house for several weeks during the holidays which I thought rather odd but, like the relatives, it too is now gone. For a while I wondered what other outside stuff they might bring in next. The wading pool? The slide? Evidently attuned to my bewilderment, mom and dad sat me down one night and told me what the tree was all about and in time I came to enjoy it. We decorated it together; made it really pretty and festive. And as we trimmed the tree they told me the story of Jesus and how Christmas was his birthday, and they told me about this fellow Santa Claus.
And the whole time the tree was in the house mom and dad kept asking me what I wanted for Christmas. What did I want this Santa guy to bring me? I thought for a moment and told them.
Then one morning I woke up and trotted downstairs and there everyone was with their @!$# phones pointed at me and the whole area around the tree was littered with packages. Next to the tree, on a little table where the night before I’d put out cookies and milk, was a note from Santa thanking me for the food and on top of the note was the thing I’d most wanted for Christmas: Green Candy. I tore open the wrapper and started working it over and wow, was it good!
So good in fact, for a long time I ignored all the other packages and just concentrated on finding more green candy. Which prompted GD to say that asking Santa for green candy reminded him of a poem by a guy named Holmes. “Little I ask, my wants are few…” he recited, then dismissed the rest of the stuff as “over the top largesse”. I had no idea what he was talking about and didn’t particularly care. The candy was delicious and I had little interest at the time in another of GD’s typically hazy philosophy lessons.
Then he picked me up, kissed me on the cheek, and concluded, “…grateful for the blessing lent, of simple tastes and mind content!” I smiled at him and, certain there were many other pieces yet to be found, offered him my half-eaten green candy. He laughed, put me down and said, “Merry Christmas Ava,” then turned briefly aside and complained about having something in his eye.
Blake’s email address is email@example.com