Lying for Christmas

If you hear a funny noise at night, like the wind whistling through the broken remains of a once majestic castle on the sea cliffs, don't worry, it is only the sound of me weeping into my Earl Grey. Christmas started off badly, and then slowly descended into the sort of torture reserved for banjo and accordion players in Hell. In this neck of the woods, Santa only brings one present for each child. The rest come from the aunties, uncles, parents or whoever else a cunning child can blackmail. Extreme caution is used to disguise the real source of Santa's present, including wrapping it in exclusive paper so non of the other presents have it, writing the name and greeting with the other hand, and hiding it better than Anne Frank. Had the Nazis employed the same cunning and stealth as Legend Jr, she would have been found on the first night.

I was standing in the hall way on Christmas Eve tidying away some of the flotsam and jetsam of life at the Legend household, when Jr mentioned, in a fairly matter of fact sort of way, that there was a present addressed to him from Santa in the spare bedroom closet.
Earlier this year, I was certain that the game was up. Some of his peers at the school for the criminally insane Elementary School where Jr attends (at least in body) were adamant that Santa was a big fraud. Legend Jr would have non of this nonsense. Last year, he saw the footprints of Santa on the snow covered deck. And had not Santa eaten the cake he left and drank his Port? (indeed he did)
My heart sank with a solid thud on the tile floor. For a few seconds,  my only real pleasure in Christmas was disappearing faster than my investments. Panicked,  I did what any self respecting father would do in these circumstances. I lied my way out of it.

"I was trying to keep it a secret Son. Santa actually came last night as his schedule is just soooo busy, he couldn't make all of his rounds in just one night." My nose grew about 3 ft.
"But dad, he didn't pick up the present I made for him," he whimpered.
"I know what," I said, with a flash of genius, "Lets send him a note to pick it up on his way home. He does have to pass this way on his way back up North." Another 3 ft of growth.
So we wrote the note, lit a fire, put the note in the flames and watched the smoke drift up the chimney on its way to Santa's secretary.

On Christmas morning, Jr sprang out of bed and dashed out of the bedroom to see if his present had been picked up. (It's now in a security box in the Bank of America branch on Vashon until further notice). Christmas saved for another year, he opened the rest of his  presents, built an entire fleet of Starships out of Lego, while I prepared for the imminent arrival of the In laws for Christmas dinner.

I was contemplating calling them up and telling them I had passed away after breakfast, but that might have been one lie too many.