"'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house..."
"I know, I know." I said. "Is there any way we could make this any more interesting, Dad?"
"Why?" he answered. "It's a classic!"
"Yeah," I sighed, "but it gets boring hearing it year after year. Can't we spice it up at all? Maybe make it an action movie style?"
Dad just looked at me strangely. Of course he wouldn't understand. He'd already been desensitized to the poem. It was about time someone told this story a different way to help all the suffering kids in the world who grow up listening to the same poem told the same way year after year. Here's what I was picturing.
So there I was, lying quietly in my bed. It was Christmas eve. The only noise came from the winter wind gusting outside my well-sealed window. The decorations were up. I pictured my red and green striped stocking perfectly hanging from the edge of the fireplace. Being the kid I was, I had my fingers crossed hoping that Santa Claus would come and fill the entire living room with presents only for me. I was an only child, and would've gotten spoiled anyway, but Santa gave me an excuse to ask for it.
Mom and Dad had tucked me into bed earlier that evening. When they left they told me to dream about "sugar-plums." I had no idea what those were, so I was thinking about M&M's and Skittles instead. Despite all my best efforts, though, I couldn't fall asleep. My Superman pajamas seemed to make it itchy everywhere. Now that I look back, it could've simply been the anticipation. Not too long after being tucked in, I knew my parents were asleep, judging by the steady stream of snoring coming from down the hall. I just shook my head and rolled over.
Suddenly, I heard a huge noise from outside. It wasn't just the thump of a large bit of snow falling off the roof. It sounded like a cross between a Christmas song on the radio and a car crash. Despite the cold, I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. I was halfway there when I remembered to put my slippers on. I rushed back to the bed, threw my feet into the soft tigers, and ran to the window. Even though they know I hate it when my curtains are closed, my parents had closed them again tonight. I struggled with them for a while before throwing them open.
The moon was shining brightly on the yard. It was so bright it almost looked like day time. I looked up at it and noticed it was almost full. "That's weird," I thought, "the moon was only a small sliver yesterday." I shrugged and returned my attention to the front lawn. My eyes immediately grew to the size of my aunt's molasses cookies (and let me tell you, they're huge!). There was Santa's sleigh! I counted the eight reindeer, just to make sure. It, he, was real! It was sitting right on my front lawn! I could barely hold my excitement. I almost let out a high-pitched screech. Fortunately, I was able to contain myself and content myself with shaking with happiness.
A small person hopped out of the driver's seat and began moving around the sleigh and the reindeer. I didn't have to look twice to guess who that was. It was Santa Claus! He was talking and calming the reindeer. He let out a shrill whistle and, through some trick of the acoustics, I was able to hear every word he said. He called out to each of the reindeer by name.
Santa stepped back onto the sleigh and into the driver's seat and called out. "Alright, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen!" (I, being a big fan, was able to say each name along with the old man.) "Put your backs into it, lads! We've got to get to the top of this here house! Pull! Dash away!" I was mesmerized by Santa's enthusiasm. He was never like this at the mall. He always seemed slow and careful. I wouldn't blame him. The guy looked old enough to be my dad's grandfather!
To my surprise, the reindeer, straining against the reins, dashed forward, and before they hit the angry neighbor's fence, leaped into the air. Now my mouth joined my eyes in mimicking my aunt's molasses cookies. They circled around a couple of times. I guess they were trying to find a good place to land. Finally, on the third time around, they landed on the roof, spraying snow everywhere. I didn't wait to figure out if Santa had made it safely to the roof. I ran downstairs to watch him come down the chimney.
Each step I made down the stairs was repeated on the roof by the reindeer's hooves. Each time my foot hit one stair with a muted thud, a reindeer's hoof would clack on the roof with a slight jingle of bells. When I reached the bottom, the noises on the roof stopped, and my dad's snoring regained it's dominance in sound for a bit. Then, a solid thud resounded on the roof. Then, similar thuds echoed as someone moved towards the chimney. I quickly looked around for a place to hide. I didn't want Santa to see me up this late. Finally, I decided to hide under the dining room table, across the room from the tree and fireplace. The footsteps finally reached the chimney, and Santa Claus slipped down the chimney with a grating noise and plenty of grunting. I guess they don't make chimneys as big as they used to.
Then, suddenly, Santa Claus was standing in the fireplace. I knew it was him immediately. He was wearing his classic red and white outfit, though it had soot and ash smudges all over the place. I obviously wasn't his first stop. That was fine with me, as long as he left a bunch of presents for me! My eyes turned to his bag of goodies on his back. I was almost drooling with anticipation. When he set down his bag and began to look through it, he reminded me of one of those street vendors who carry their stores on their backs. I almost laughed he looked so funny.
When he resurfaced from looking through his bag, I got a good look at his face. His dark eyes were shining and twinkling with the Christmas tree lights. He had a big smile on his face and his cheeks were bright red. I guessed it must be cold flying around in the middle of winter. Now I was glad that I had convinced my mom to leave hot chocolate instead of milk for Santa. I guessed he'd probably appreciate it more. If his cheeks were red with cold, his nose was bright red. It looked like one of those cherries that you put on the top of an ice cream sundae. His huge white beard reached down to the middle of his chest.
He had a piece of wood sticking out of his mouth. I had no idea why, but there was smoke coming from it. I guessed it was something like a cigarette, but more old-fashioned. In any case, the smoke seemed to be contained. After leaving the pipe, it circled around his head like the green circle thing we hung on our door during Christmas. He was even fatter than I had imagined him. He chuckled as he moved around. His humungous belly bounced like a big water balloon every time he moved or laughed. I almost burst out laughing myself again, but forced myself to hold it in.
Every time his huge belly bounced, I tried to hold my laughter in, but that didn't last long. I finally let out a huge laugh that I was sure was going to wake up my dad and get me coal in my stocking. He turned and looked right at me. Then he picked up a cookie from the table and winked at me. I understood that there was nothing to be afraid of. I carefully crawled out from under the table and walked back toward the staircase. I turned around wand watched the old man get to work.
He never said anything to me, but immediately began to bustle around the room. He downed the hot chocolate and the other two cookies with gusto and a big belch before turning to the stockings. In a flash, he had filled all three stockings to bursting with candies and small toys. Then, he got to my favorite part: the presents. One after another he pulled them out from the bag and put them under the tree in an organized mess. Some were huge packages and others were smaller than my hand, but I knew that all of them were going to be great. To my slight disappointment he didn't fill the entire room with presents. I realized that that would be too many to open in one day anyway and contented myself with what I got. When he finished pulling presents out of the bag, he stepped back into the fireplace. He put his right thumb against his nose, and, with another wink and a nod, disappeared back up the chimney.
I heard his thumping boots on the roof again for a little and then, I heard a shrill whistle. With a jingle of bells, the clack of reindeer hooves, and the scrapes of a sled on snow, I knew that Santa had taken off the roof again. I ran up the stairs, hoping to get one last glimpse of that jolly old man before waiting for a full year to see him again. When I reached my window, I heard him give his classic call out from down the street. "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" I smiled and, yawning, went back to bed. I was ready for Christmas to start the next day.
When I told my dad that version of the story, he smiled. "I guess that wasn't so bad." He said. "I still like the original better, though."
"Well," I said, "sometimes new ways of telling old stories are good."
"That's true." he agreed. "Now good night. Your mom will kill me if you're not in bed in time!"
He gave me a kiss and tucked me into my nice warm covers.
"Sleep tight, Kiddo."
"G'night, Dad."
"Love you!"
"Love you too. And, Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas." He answered with a smile that looked almost like how I imagined Santa's must look.
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