In 1971, I Wrote a Somewhat Rude Letter to Santa

In 1971, I wrote a somewhat rude letter to Santa and had the audacity to sign the thing “love.” I mean, how could I love Santa–a man I barely knew?

Yet I called him by his first name (omitting the Claus), signed it with my full name, and took a wild guess at his address.

What appears so rude to me is that I omitted small talk and didn’t say please, nor did I acknowledge his past efforts on my behalf!

Basically, I didn’t beat-around-the-proverbial-bush.

In my poorly-structured, poorly-punctuated and grammatically incorrect words, I was tersely non-circuitous. Unlike the prayer-model given us by Jesus (or the one my campus ministry taught me over forty years ago with the acronym ACTS), I did not start my letter with Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving…ending with Supplication.

Nope. I went straight for the supplication part, beginning my opening sentence (that inarguably would be a proper sentence if I had only put a colon after “things” and better-utilized basic commas and periods) with “I want.”

Dear Santa,
I want…

~Eileen Slifer, 1971

I’ve been wanting to do something with this letter that I found among other things I have in boxes. And today, I seem to be taking my imagined written expression that would accompany this personal artifact in a different direction. I knew that I might play around with my first observation of my childhood innocence in omitting please and thank you, but today it went a different direction in my mind.

I almost called this piece “Will I Get This by Christmas?” That seems to be the only comical element that might have made my seemingly-rude letter to Santa even ruder!

And the reason I think about this is because I’m not feeling too generous in my thoughts today, as I should, especially this time of year.

I’m struggling with various things, and a client reached out to me Sunday wanting an update on their special project. The special project that I will bring to completion so that someone in their world will be happy and have a holly-jolly Christmas. I’ve been behind, as usual, with a number of heavy weights, difficult deadlines, and little time for my own self to do the things that help me feel, personally, human.

I sent the client a short update and photo Sunday. I indicated that I had an open studio all weekend and had been working 12 hour days for quite some time–yada yada–and that their project was now on the table, begun and about to get my fuller attention.

There was no reply.

I continued working on this piece–giving it the care and attention it deserves, just as I do all my commissioned works–and sent another photo last night.

Today, there was no seemingly-human response such as, “That looks good…” before the statement that (perhaps reasonably) came.

Nope.

Just the words “Will I get this by Christmas?”

I began my prompt response with, “Of course!” Then I explained (or re-clarified) my process concerning the piece.

I know it is wrong and less than gracious, and I don’t know what is in that person’s world right now that animates their communications or change in tone from that which existed in November when the order was placed.

I only know what is in my world right now.

_____

I think of Advent, and of Hope.

I think of how I am not decorating this year, have no current plans for Christmas, and am using all the time I can squeeze out in addition to all else to try to finish up a little illustrated storybook I began for my grown sons in 2015. I just feel it needs to come to completion. And I don’t think it can happen by Christmas, but, it is highly likely to be finished by January 3 or soon thereafter, which is my youngest son’s birthday.

I have gifts for both sons. The youngest I have not seen in over two years. I was thankful to be permitted to know the names and birth dates of my twin grandchildren he fathered and were born August 5. This information came to me by text from their father (whom I was married to for 20 years) Thanksgiving evening, as I was alone here.

I do not intend to beg for anything. If my son(s) do not feel or believe I am worth having a real, adult, quality relationship with, then I don’t think it is a good role model for me to grovel. I may have failed in aspects of my mothering (God only knows for sure), but I think there is something to be said for maintaining one’s own dignity and sense of self-worth in the face of unwarranted assault whether direct or indirect.

So, I will press on in this situation that seems to have no hope or no end, maintaining the values and various forms of personal integrity I have hoped not only for my own self but for each of my sons. A personal integrity that is the basis of true health, wholeness and so much more.

I don’t think it is right that I only received this information from Jonathan through a mediated means–his father–and only after I initiated some brief dialogue with him by email in November and he (seemed) to then approach our son about the matter. One thing I expressed in my brief exchange was that I had hoped I might learn the names and birthdates of our grandchildren so that I might pray for them by name.

There is a lot not right about the entirety of all this, and there is not a lot right about many things in our world right now. I don’t know if it has always been this dark, or if I’m just seeing some things now for what they are.

I kind of think it is both, and, I think the darkness is particularly thick right now.

I’ve been thinking this week about Hope being not necessarily linked to Outcome.

As Christians, it is our call to maintain Hope in the most hopeless of situations. And surely, mine could yet become more hopeless and surely, I know of a number of situations which appear even less hopeful than my own.

Who Hopes for that he sees? (this idea expressed in Romans 8:24 in another context)

I think of how God gives us enough glimmer of Hope during dark times to enable us to keep walking.

I think of the verse, “He won’t break off a bent reed or put out a dying flame, but he will make sure that justice is done.” (Isaiah 42:3)

_____

I think of many things.

I think of being child-like with the Father.

I think of the times where we can’t clearly see Jesus, or where He is or what He is doing.

I think of His birth into the world with its smallness and seeming hiddenness…just the beginning of God’s ultimate purpose for us and the world seeing its dawn of fulfillment of Hope and Promises.

But mostly, here in this writing, I think about Jesus not being Santa.

He sees our childish rudeness at times and still smiles upon us – and acts as our Advocate before the Father.

God sees us when we’re sleeping…He knows when we’re awake…He knows when we’ve been “bad or good” but…for goodness sake! He doesn’t treat us accordingly.

And with that…I ponder what my letter to Santa might look like if I wrote it tonight in December 2022 at age fifty-nine?

_______

Dear Santa,
I want these things,
A son called Jonathan. A son called Zachary.
And to see twin grandbabies.
Names are Arlo Henry and Zola Anne.
OK to skip the 3 45RPM Christmas records.
I got Spotify.
Also got about 4-5 coats bigger than size 8.
I got enough toys here.
And Hershey bars. I still have 2 left in the basket near my coffee maker.
Love,
Eileen Slifer