A WHALE TALE.

I have been working with the children on story structure, and specifically the importance of developing plots that are consistent with the intrinsic motivations of the primary characters. This was my son's effort today. Reminiscent of Shyamalan's The Village, sort of, with shifting protagonists, and a muddied middle act, but I think he grabs us with the ending. Here it is below:

WHALE TALE.
Once upon a time, there was a shark.
And it was a huge shark.
It weighed eight pounds.
It ate a fish,
and then it ate a whale's tail.
The whale got on the beach
and was tied up,
and then smoke got in his lung.
And he died.
The end.

So, there's that. Deus ex machina leaves the door open for a sequel, which would not surprise me terribly. 

Anyway, I'll pass along your comments and feedback. Thanks.

Change.or, In Which I Am Bullied

Less than an hour ago, I was bullied. This is my story.

Previous:
I woke up, sleepy and disgruntled over the disruption of my dream involving me and Bruce Willis running a lemonade stand franchise. The air was Antarctic; the heater repair people are coming next week. I stumbled to the shower and turned the nozzle. Good things come to those who wait*, like hot water.

This is What Happened Next.
I waited for the water to get hot, and suddenly, this horrid person came up behind me and shoved me -yes, you read that correctly - PHYSICALLY SHOVED ME into the shower, simultaneously saying:
"Get in. It's hot enough."

I almost lost my balance and injured myself, but that paled in comparison to the glacier stream blasting from the nozzle. The scream trapped in my throat because my body was already freezing up from paralysis. I tried to get out but she slammed** the shower door so I couldn't get out. I shivered with courage.

Skip to the End.
I made it. I survived, but even when I went to get out at the end, she ordered me to stay in until I was completely dry "...because I have my socks on and I don't want water on the floor."

I stood there, dripping and alone, just my thoughts and a tiny towel, wandering how many times this happens every day. How many times does a wife push her husband into a cold shower, imprison him in it, and refuse to let him out until "he's dried off?"

I am unaware of there being any more serious issue in our country right now than THIS. I would like to start a petition to make people aware and to start the process for change. Can somebody fax me a website that will help get this ball rolling? Change has to happen NOW.

"Every journey begins with a first step, unless you're riding a unicycle."

-Joseph Long

Let's make this happen, people. Stop the madness.****

And have a jolly Friday. It's too late for me.

____

*I think I made this phrase up 
**closed
****I think I made this up

Upon the Holy Blades of Rhindon, Dyrnwyn, and Excalibur, I Assure You That These are No Mere Props

Swordfighters on break.

I made wooden swords for the children this evening. We sat down for supper and I issued a stern edict:

"There will be no swordfighting at the dinner table."

Which I felt was reasonable, and which was obeyed thoroughly by all people at the table under the age of six. Then Becca reaches over, grabs a sword, and invites our son to engage in combat, which he accepts with delight. My daughter and I sit there, shaking heads and eating our home baked pizza, and I continue to entreat my wife to cease battle and return to the quiet pursuit of conversation about cultured topics, like the parallels between tortured anti-heroes such as Old Testament King Saul and former Jedi Darth Vader.

With an intelligence born of frequent experience, I recognized that my authoritative credentials were unsalvageable, so I finished eating in quiet resignation and fury. The battle ended without a clear victor; it also ended without anyone's nose getting whacked, or an errant sword flying into a full plate, so I suppose it could have been worse.

Becca sat down and sighed with contentment.

A Horrid, Awful Day in Which My Fatigue is Endless and I am Forced to Socialize

PREFACE.

My wife asked me: how much of this story is true?

I said: Oh, maybe twenty percent, but I'm not sure which parts exactly.

Oh. 
She said.

PREVIOUS TO THIS, EARLIER IN THE MORNING, I WAS TELLING MY CHILDREN A STORY.

Even though it's April, I'm going to tell you a Christmas story, okay?

- Okay.

It's a story about when my parents were very mean. Do you want to hear it?

- Yeah.

Okay (I said, and started the story):
So once upon a time, I was really tired. 
Can I please go to bed?
I asked my parents. 
I'm really tired.

NO! We're going Christmas caroling.

So I had to go out in the dark, and walk around to people's houses, and sing Christmas carols, like that Hark the Herald Angel one.

And I'm so tired. I'm only about ten, and my body is just fatigued and I just want to collapse into bed. Can I PLEASE go to bed? I beg.

NO! We're going to have hot chocolate now.

WHY??!! 
I wail. 
I'm so tired!

Drink it! Drink the hot chocolate!
They order me.

So I had to drink hot chocolate and play with other kids.

Are we done now? 
I ask.

NO! We're going roller skating now.

Aaah!! I have to put on roller skates?! 

Yes.

So we go to the roller skating rink and I put on roller skates and I have to roller skate around the rink listening to The Hokey Pokey over and over. 

I was a very good roller skater, and one of my tricks was that instead of learning how to stop, I just learned to skate very fast, and then ran into the wall and let it stop me. 
Painful, but my body was fine because I was young.

Then my parents said: 

You look like you need some food in you…EAT SOME LICORICE AND POPCORN!

Why??!  I'm not hungry!! I don't want to eat licorice and popcorn! I'm so tired! You guys are the meanest parents ever.

Stop grumbling or we'll make you eat a marshmallow also,
they yelled at me.

Okay, I'm ready to crawl into bed now…can I PLEASE GO!?

Yes, you can go to bed now…
JUST KIDDING! NOW…we're going to watch a movie!

You've got to be kidding. First you make me go Christmas caroling, then you make me eat hot chocolate, then you make me go roller skating, then you make me eat licorice and popcorn, then I have to go roller skating, and now you're making me go watch a movie? I need my rest!

We'd like for you to watch this movie, Joey.

So we watch this World War movie about these Germans and Americans fighting each other and how they all put up their guns over the holidays, or something like that, and the film ended and I said:

Is it over yet? Is it done? Can we be done now?

Yes, it's over. Thank you for being so patient. 

You're welcome! I shrieked. 

So then we went home and they said: You can go to bed now.

I crawled into bed and I laid my head down and I snuggled the covers up to me and I closed my eyes, and it was very late…

…and I realised:

I WASN'T TIRED ANYMORE! I threw off the blankets and I jumped out of my bed and ran to my mom and dad's room where they were pretending to be asleep and I jumped on them and I said

GUESS WHAT!  GOOD NEWS! I'm not tired now! Let's go do something fun!

They pretended to be very angry with me and threw me out of their room, and locked the door.

THE END.

Deem, a Very Villainous Character, and Matt Damon

GENTLY, HE LEAPED ON MY STOMACH WHILE I SLEPT AND TOLD ME A TALE ABOUT DEEM, A VILLAINOUS CHARACTER THAT YOU ARE PROBABLY NOT FAMILIAR WITH YET, BUT WILL GROW TO LOVE:

****

Daddy, let's play D'Artagnan and Goliath! You be D'Artagnan and I'll be Goliath and I'll FIGHT YOU!

(waves drumstick ferociously, which makes me a very good parent for letting him do it while bouncing on the bed)

- What about David? I ask.

Yeah. D'Artagnan and Dave and Goliath, and they are on the Light Side, and they are fighting the people in the blue house with guns.

- There's people in a blue house with guns?

Yeah. They're on the roof because they're fixing the roof and Deem is there and he is on the Dark Side.

- Who is Deem?

Deem is Goliath's brother. He's bad. And Dave slings him with his slingshot.

(makes ferocious swooshing sound, simulating what looks much more like a bow-and-arrow than a slingshot)

- Oh. So what else transpires in this story?

They FIGHT, and Dave turns into David the King, and Darth Vader is on the Light Side.

- Darth Vader is on the Light Side?

Yeah. And Deem is on the Dark Side, and they're on the roof with the people with guns, and they're fighting the people in the brown house.

- There's a brown house? And Deem is still around?

Yeah. And I will fight them. Deem is bad.

- Okay. Shall we go make breakfast?

- Yeah.

We leap off the bed dangerously, and trot off to make potatoes.

THE END.

****

It's Not Really a Ship (They're Just Pretending).

It's Not Really a Ship (They're Just Pretending). February 27, 2013

"We're going to St. Peters," he said.

- You mean St. PetersBURG?" she corrected.

"Yeah. St. Petersburg."

So off they sailed, a blurry course to the open sea, reflecting on childhood friends and the dreams they had.


Tribute to Spoon (All the Pretty Girls Go to the City, and Take Their Brothers).

Tribute to Spoon (All the Pretty Girls Go to the City, and Take Their Brothers). February 23, 2013

Matt Damon.


I feel like I've been coming up with a number of good ideas lately for improving the world, and my latest is this: 

1. If you don't know who Matt Damon is, then you should find out (he might have a Wikipedia page). The short version is that he is probably the fourth greatest living actor in the world today. 

2. Aside from being the most versatile actor in the universe, he is also possibly one of the most inspiring, enthusiastic people I have ever known, that I don't know. 

3. It is that quality of childlike enthusiasm that I adore. He seems like he just loves life. Like he genuinely enjoys doing what he does, and working with who he works with, and filling the earth with good cheer, like an out-of-season Santa Claus. I think he might be the most inspirational person alive, but I can't scientifically prove it. 

4. I would never actually vote for a dictator to become President, but if he was a dictator who happened to be running, then I would consider it, unless he was running against Paul Rudd, in which case I would be faced with the hardest decision I have ever had to make. 

5. I have a feeling that Matt Damon might be competitive in a similar way to me, in the sense that he would try very hard and trashtalk a lot and attempt to cheat, and then be okay in the end regardless of whether he won or lost, and then maybe write a story about it when no one was paying attention so he could fudge the history books a bit. I think there's a big lesson in that, which makes me kind of inspiring too. 

Good night, and happy week ahead.
____

Cletus and Xerxes : I Tell My Children a Story About a Rabbit and a Turtle, and You Have Not Heard This Before

Once upon a time, there was a rabbit named Cletus and a turtle named Xerxes. 

Magdelana: Daddy, I've heard this story before!

Me: No you haven't.

So anyway, Cletus was energetic. He was enthusiastic about life. Excited, like Whoo-hoo about everything! He was young, for a rabbit.

Xerxes was a turtle. He took things easy. Didn't get too worked up about most things. Slow and low, that was his tempo.

There was a block party. A block party is where the neighbors get together and eat a bunch of sherbet and hot dogs and listen to Bloc Party. A conversation came up about running, and the question came up about who was the fastest runner around.

Xerxes spoke up. Uhh, you know, I think you'd be surprised at my wheels. This old boy got some wheels.

Everybody started laughing. Xerxes! You're like, one of the slowest ones here! You're not fast at all!

Xerxes the Turtle was hurt. I know y'all don't believe me, but I actually used to be quite speedy. Some players are fast in the sprints, and some are fast in the distance. Me, I'm a miracle marathon man.

This sounded wise. Cletus the Rabbit spoke up. 

All respect, old man, but I'd betchyou a bagga carrots and a box 'o french fries you couldn't beat me. 

Xerxes chortled: Well, if you think you're such a hotshot, then let's do it. I'll race you. 

Cletus: No offense, old boy, but I'm a fast cat, and you're not exactly known for your wheels, you know?

Xerxes, snorting: Bring it, ya hare-brained carrotbrain!

Cletus: Well, you say you were good at distance, and I'm a sprinter, so uhh, how about we split the difference? Medium distance race?

Oh yeah, boy. You just bring it. 'Ole Grandpeppy X is gonna game you, boy. 

So they set up the big race. Bookies were having a field day. Pretty much everyone knew that Cletus was going to win, but there's always that hope that the underdog is gonna come through, so Xerxes had a few backers. 

The day came. Cletus was talking it up a little, but however much he was bragging paled in comparison to how much Xerxes was talking it up:

Time to show the youngsters how this is done, them calory-counting FancyPhone hippetyhopping pillpoppas. Grandpappy X is gonna show how we do it old school, with none a that fancy biometriclonic training junk. Time to learn some R-E-S-P-E-C-T, time for the Hare-Head to learn some RESPECT!

Got ready to race. 3 - 2 - 1, bang! They're off. 

Cletus was much faster off the starting blocks, so he lickety-split started running out front. Way out in front of Xerxes. So far out in front that he thought I'll take myself a little nap. 

Laid down, pulled his FancyPhone out and set the timer for 20 minutes. Took a little snooze. Zonked out. Timer went off. Could still see Xerxes a little ways off. Pulled a carrot and pizza out of his backpack. Ate for some quick energy, but it just made him tired. Xerxes was still back there a ways. So Cletus decided to settle in for another quick nap. Xerxes was doing surprisingly well for an old guy, but still plenty of ground to make up. Slow and steady. 

Cletus figured he'd just rest up again for a few. Not a bad guy, he thought. The old man just has a bit of arrogance. So he laid down. But he forgot to set the timer on his FancyPhone. So he kept snoozing and snoozing. All of a sudden, he woke up. Aaaahh! Where's Xerxes? Looks up. Guess what?

Xerxes is in front of him now. 

Cletus jumps up, starts racing as fast as he can. He can see the finish line, and Xerxes is still ahead. They're both hauling along for all they're worth. Cletus is like Oh man, this is gonna be close! And Xerxes is up front chugga-chugga-chugga huff-puff-chugga-hugga and his little turtle backside just going up and down. They're both running and racing and hopping and finally...

one of them crosses the finish line first.

Who do you think crossed the finish line first?

Magdelana: Xerxes.

Johannes: The turtle.

Nope! 

Cletus the Rabbit crossed the finish line first. Even though everyone was rooting for the underdog, and they wanted Xerxes to win, that's just not the way it goes. In fairy tales, the turtle would have won, but in real life, a rabbit will always beat a turtle because a rabbit is a lot faster. Even if a turtle gets a big head start, then a rabbit is still going to beat a turtle ninety-nine times out of a hundred in a timed competition under ten miles.

Even though you want to think that 'slow and steady' is going to win the race, that's not the way it goes. Sometimes, it's about who has the most enthusiasm at the beginning, and that's gonna keep 'em going. Even though everyone was going for old Xerxes because he was the underdog, he just didn't have the physical ability or willpower. Also, Cletus made the wise decision to take a power nap. The power of those should never be underestimated.

Everybody was expecting Cletus to win, and he did win. People like to be surprised, but sometimes there aren't surprises. Sometimes what you think is going to happen is exactly what happens. So I guess the point is that it's important to try things when you're older, but also realise that no matter how much you want Michael Jordan the Turtle to beat LeBron James the Rabbit, it's just not going to happen.

But also, it does happen once in a while, and that's a nice surprise, and makes good cinema.

Also, Cletus and Xerxes became wonderful friends, and eventually both became very out-of-shape and sat on the front porch eating creamsicles and complaining about the next batch of young 'uns, and I suppose that's one way that people can bond, is complaining about whatever generation is the youngest.

The End.

Is Santa Claus Really Real? (A Christmas Eve Story in Which I Go Shopping with my Dad in an Elf Hat, and I am the Good Guy in the Story)

Once upon a time, when I was an adult - 

Magdelana: Is this a scary story?

Yes...Just kidding. It's not.

- Then why did you say it was?

I changed my mind and decided to tell the unscary version. 

- Tell the scary version!

Okay, then I will have to make up part of it. You want me to do that?

- Yeah.

I'm not going to tell you what parts are made up and which parts aren't.

- Why?

Because then it wouldn't be scary. Deal?

- Daddy, just tell me what parts you're making up!

No! Then it wouldn't be scary! Fair?

- Yes.

Thank you. Once upon a time, when I was a very successful adult, but not the age I am now, then we were in Lincoln City on Christmas Eve. You probably want to know why we were in Lincoln City on Christmas Eve. 

- To go Christmas shopping?

No. We were there because  a friend of ours was in the hospital there and she was going to have a baby. Have you ever heard of a baby? We wanted to be supportive, so we went there. We were waiting and waiting and waiting. Although the cinema would have you believe otherwise, then oftentimes what happens when somebody's having a baby is that there's a lot of waiting and waiting. We couldn't actually see her, and so my Dad said to me,

Hey Joseph, I gotta run some errands.

I said "Dad, what errands do you have to run? It's Christmas Eve."

I just gotta run some…errands.

I thought we were going to go eat.

Yeah, we'll do that. I just got a couple errands I gotta run.

Can you just tell me where you're going?

Nah. I just gotta run a couple places.

Dad…you're being very weird. 

C'mon, it's Christmas Eve!

Uhh, yes Dad. I know it's Christmas Eve. I'm very aware that it's Christmas Eve, and that I'm spending Christmas Eve in a hospital right now. But thank you for reminding me that it's Christmas Eve. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be right now than in a hospital. 

I can tell that you're being sarcastic. But I've got an idea…how about a little DAD/SON BONDING TIME…what do you say?

Fine.

So we hopped in the van. The big black passenger van he was driving at that point in his life. At that point in my life, I was a grown-up adult driving a much nicer automobile than a black van, and I was very successful, if I remember correctly. Too successful to be driving in a dorkball passenger van.

So I get in. And my dad tosses me something. Something red and white. Know what it was?

Magdelana: A candy cane?

No. A hat. Like an elf hat.

What's this for? I said.

It's a hat.

Why would I wear it?

To stay warm. And also, it's Christmas Eve.

I know that it's Christmas Eve, Dad! We already went over this. I know it's Christmas Eve. What does that have to do with putting on an elf hat? I'm not an elf, Dad.

Yeah. You're an elf. We're both elves right now.

No. I am not an elf. I am in college, and I am a person. A very successful person. And I don't think I should be wearing a stupid elf hat right now. What if people see me?

If you're a wimp, then don't wear it.

I'm not a wimp, Dad! I just…why should I wear an elf hat that's probably lice-infested, and smells like a dental chair?

(beat)

Fine. I give in. I'll wear it. Whatever.

Don't say whatever.

Don't say 'don't say whatever.'

Don't say 'don't say whatever' when I say 'don't say whatever.'

Dad, don't try to cheer me up. I would just like to be in a bad mood right now. 

Why would you be in a bad mood? It's Christmas Eve.

I KNOW IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE! You keep telling me that it's Christmas Eve, and I am VERY AWARE that it is Christmas Eve, and I feel like being in a foul mood right now, because I AM IN A TOWN FAR AWAY FROM OUR HOME. WHERE I WOULD LIKE TO BE, WITH A COMFORTABLE DINNER TABLE, AND A CHRISTMAS TREE AND LIGHTS TWINKLING AND MUSIC GOING AND PRESENTS UNDER THE TREE…and thinking of all those Christmas things we're supposed to be doing, all snuggled up and warm, waiting for hot chocolate and whipped cream and peppermint things, and waiting to watch Die Hard after Mom goes to bed, and all that stuff. But no. I'm not doing any of that. I'm driving HERE, with YOU, in a FOREIGN town, on Christmas Eve. It's like we're Joseph and Mary right now, in a place far from home. We have no place to go. 

That doesn't make sense, because I'm not pregnant. 

I know you're not pregnant, Dad, because you're a guy. 

Yeah I know. I was just making sure you knew that.

Dad. Sometimes you can be a dork. 

Thank you.

I wasn't saying it as a compliment!

Well I took it as a compliment. Thank you.

No! If I didn't say it as a compliment, then don't take it as a compliment. You can't take something that was meant to be an insult, and accept it as a compliment. That's illegal. 

Well, I changed the rule.

You can't change the rule.

I'm your father, so I changed the rule. Any rule that you make, I can change. 

That's not fair. 

Don't say 'it's not fair.'

I can say 'it's not fair' if I want!

No. I'm your father. You can't say 'it's not fair.'

Well, I am an adult. A very successful adult. 

Right now, you look like an elf.

Dad, where are we going? Seriously. What are we doing that is so important that you pull me away from the one comfortable place I was actually in: a hospital, which at least is warm. Unlike your van with a broken heater. And I'm wearing a stupid elf hat. And I'm tired of listening to Mariah Carey.

That's what elves do: they wear hats. And listen to Mariah Carey on repeat.

For the last time: I am not an elf. And you are not an elf. Now let's get this ridiculous errand done, whatever it is.

OK, let's do it. 

(beat)

Where do you want to go?

What do you mean?

Where do you want to go?

DAD! You ASKED ME to go with you to run some errands…ON CHRISTMAS EVE. That means that you had something in mind. I'm just along for the ride. You wanted me to come.

Yeah. Where do you wanna go?

Are you telling me that you don't have any idea where we're going? Wait a second...there are no errands. Are there? You had no errands.

Not true. We're running errands right now. I just don't know where we're going….HEY LOOK! There's a store! That's where we're running one of our errands!

Dad, seriously. We left everybody at the hospital to run these errands, and you don't even have anywhere to go. You don't have a plan at all.

Well yeah, I wanted to get some Christmas presents. 

Deep sigh.

Tomorrow is Christmas. You're telling me that it is

(I check my watch)

seven o'clock on Christmas Eve, and you want to go Christmas shopping. 

Yeah. I thought we'd just get some Christmas presents.

Have you not done any Christmas present shopping?

Of course I have!

Then why do we need to go get Christmas presents?

We don't need to. I just thought it would be fun to go get some more.

So we pull into this store, this parking lot, in front of this store, and he leans on his horn.

HONNNNNK HONKKKKK HONNNNNNNK

What was that for?

What was what for?

Why did you just honk the horn?

Because I'm angry.

Why are you angry?

Because the store is closed. 

Dad, of course it's closed…IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE. It's Christmas Eve. Stores are closed on Christmas Eve.

That's stupid. 

Dad, it's not stupid. People don't go shopping on Christmas Eve. 

Well, I'm a person, and I'm trying to go shopping on Christmas Eve, so therefore your logic is false. I am trying to go shopping on Christmas Eve with my son, like you suggested. 

I DID NOT SUGGEST GOING SHOPPING ON CHRISTMAS EVE! Stop twisting my words around! 

Stop twisting my words around. 

Also, stop copying me Dad.

Stop copying me.

Dad! 

Dad.

I swear Dad….you are the most frustrating person on the face of the universe. 

How do you know we're on the face of the universe. How do you know this isn't the universe's butt?

Deep sigh.

That's not even funny.

Yeah. It's funny. 

No, it's not.

Yeah. It's funny.

It's NOT FUNNY.

It's funny.

It's - okay Dad, I am telling you, as one very successful person who understands humor, and what's funny and what's not, that it is not funny. 

(beat)

So we drive up and down the stretch of Lincoln City looking for somewhere to buy Christmas presents on Christmas Eve.

Magdelana: Your dad was being funny. 

No, he's not being funny. I am the good guy in this story.

Magdelana: Your dad is funny.

No, he's not. Do you want me to finish this story? 

Magdelana: Yeah.

Okay, so we're driving around, and we see another parking lot. We pull in to check it out. My dad cranks the van around - CRAAAAANK - and also, my dad has probably set the world record for longest amount of time that he leaves his blinker on when he's turning. So we're driving down in the big black bomber van, wearing elf hats, and his blinker is going KCH-KCH-KCH-KCH.

Dad, your, umm, your blinker is going.

Oh. Okay.

Are you going to turn it off?

Yeah. 

How come you're not then?

It doesn't seem to be bothering anybody. 

That's because nobody else is out on the road right now. We're the only ones out on the road. 

Good point. I'll turn it off pretty soon. 

Dad, you are so frustrating.

So we keep on driving, and cannot find a place open, as I had told him. I was right, and he was wrong. 

Of course we're not going to find any places that are open for shopping on Christmas Eve. Just like I told him. 

Suddenly, you will not even believe what we saw.

Magdelana: Tiger?

Nope.

Lion?

Nope. 

Johannes: A lion? A tiger? A bat?

Nope. I'll tell you. Santa. Santa Claus. We're cruising down the road and we see this blubbery patch of red and white. My dad says: Hey! It's a giant elf!

I say That's not a giant elf…that looks like Santa. What a dorkball.

Yep. Sure enough. Santa was walking along the sidewalk, holding a leash attached to what looked like a beagle wearing reindeer antlers.

Magdelana: I know you're making this part up.

Not necessarily.

Daddy! There's no such thing as Santa! 

How do you know?

Because I've never seen him. 

Well…that is what we call a 'black swan scenario.' Nassim Nicholas Taleb talks about it, and essentially what it means is that just because you've never seen something before doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. So just because you've never seen Santa Claus, does that prove that Santa Claus doesn't exist? Can you prove the non-existence of Santa Claus?

Magdelana: No.

So you can't really disprove the existence of something, I guess was my point. 

Magdelana: Well I don't believe in Santa Claus.

Okay, well I guess that just like I didn't believe my father, you're choosing to disbelieve me. 

Magdelana: So is he really real? Did you really see Santa? Maybe you thought you did, and it was somebody dressed up. 

Johannes: Santa Claus wears a suit. 

Me, to Johannes: Is Santa Claus real?

Johannes: No.

Why not?

Johannes: Because Santa Claus is not real.

That is what we call circular logic, Johannes. So anyway, we see Santa Claus there in the road and my dad said,

It's really Santa Claus!

There's no such thing as Santa Claus. I said.

And he said: Well, that's not true. Santa Claus is right in front of us.

And I said: Dad, Santa Claus is not real.

Well…we're looking at Santa Claus in front of us.

Dad…that's somebody dressed up as Santa Claus. There's a difference between dressing up like something and actually being something. Right?

Magdelana: Right.

So Santa Claus was on the sidewalk, walking his dog with reindeer antlers. I said:

Well, fine, let's find out if that's really Santa. Let's find out if that just happens to be the REAL SANTA, just out walking his dog with fake reindeer antlers before he takes off in his sleigh to deliver presents to good little children around the world, improbable physics notwithstanding.

Nah, I don't want to stop.

Why not? If we stop right now, Dad, then you could prove, you could find out right now if Santa Claus actually exists.

I don't want to find out. 

Why not?

I don't want to know.

What do you mean, you don't want to know?

Why would I care if Santa Claus exists or not? I want to believe that Santa Claus is real. So I'm just gonna believe that. 

Let me get this straight: you want to keep on driving, when all is what we'd have to do is pull over and ask that guy: Is that a fake beard you're wearing? Are you really Santa Claus? We could find out right now if that is a fake Santa Claus or a real one, and you don't want to find out?

Nope. 

Why not.

Because I want to believe in magic. 

Dad, you're an adult. Why would you want to believe in magic?

Because…I don't like having everything explained to me. I want to believe in something extraordinary. So I choose to believe in Santa Claus. And I am going to choose to believe that we just passed Santa Claus on the road walking his reindeer dog back there, and when we get back to the hospital, I am going to tell everyone in the hospital that we saw Santa Claus. Santa Claus walking. His. Dog.

Well Dad…that wouldn't be true.

How do you know it wouldn't be true? It might be true. 

Sigh.

Dad, I am an adult - 

Interrupts.

A kid.

No, I am an adult. A very successful adult. 

A kid. My kid. You're my kid. 

Stop calling me kid.

You're my kid.

Instead of referring to me as a kid, could you just refer to me as a highly successful adult?

Well no…you're my kid. I'd prefer to just call you my kid. And I believe in Santa. 

He starts yelling out the window.

Oh look everybody, I'm driving next to an elf! Look everybody, I'm right next to an elf!

I look around. Nobody there.

Dad, who are you talking to?

I'm just telling everybody that I'm driving along with an elf. Look in the mirror!

Dad, you're such a cornball. I'm wearing an elf hat. That doesn't make me an elf. 

UHHHH….that's where you're wrong! You're an elf!

(Magdelana laughing: Your dad is right.)

I'm gonna tell everybody when we get back that I have spent Christmas Eve almost running over Santa and riding around with an elf.

Johannes: Hi Elf-Daddy.

I'm not Elf-Daddy.

Johannes: Hi Elf-Daddy.

I sighed, deeply, for the billionth time.

You know what I want right now, Dad? Some Mexican food. I want some Mexican food. I need to eat.

We drove back. I could see that his shoulders were slumped just a tidge. He didn't have the same bouncy joie de vivre. I started thinking about my old man. Such a cornball. Do I really know more than he does? I thought.

Of course I do, I answered myself. I know way more than he does. But maybe there's a few things he's figured out that I haven't yet. 

And does it hurt anybody to believe in magic?

So we got out of the dork van. 

You can leave your elf hat in the front seat, he said.

I tugged my elf hat lower on my head, and I pushed him in the chest, and said:

Get your elf hat back on, old man.

He started to get a smile on his face. We walked into the hospital lobby, I slugged him in the kidney and kicked his rear without breaking stride with my foot as we came through the automatic doors. The kid had just been born, and we could hear it screaming down the hall I think, or maybe someone else was just in a lot of pain or in labor or something. Everybody was slumped in chairs, waiting. A regular Nativity. And I said:

Guess what? We just saw Santa out walking his dog. Now let's go get some food. Some Mexican food.

The End.

Magdelana: Can you tell me another story?

No.

Hiding

Earlier, I hid under the crib.

I would make a good sniper, except for the fact that I wear deodorant and prefer not to shoot people. 

I was gleefully hiding from Becca and Magdelana, who were laying on the bed next to the crib. Mags caught Becca up on the serialized story I have been telling over the past month that features a cast of colourful characters and their adventures in the southern France countryside.

Adrenaline. Anticipatory adrenaline leading up to the moment when I would burst out and surprise them, to screams and panic.

But then I got caught up listening to them chat, as Magdelana explained the particulars of each character and summarized my tale from the previous night:

So, he was called "Big Bad Wolf" when he blew the first two cottages down, but when he tried to blow the third one down then he blew too hard and he fell down and Mige´ rushed out to help him and she put a bandage on him and was really nice to him, and she told the piggies that they should just call him "Wolf" and not "Big Bad Wolf," and every single day Wolf and Lamaunje get nicer, and then Giant and Jack and Philippe are at the farmhouse...

I listened as Becca created a fresh story using these characters. Splendid job. Such a splendid job that it put both of them to sleep. Almost me too.

Finally crawled out, to Becca's sleepy surprise. Magdelana awoke enough to whisper,

Now it's Daddy's turn to snuggle with me.

So I did, feet crammed through bars on her mini-bed.

Anticlimactic. But still refreshing. Hiding teaches patience and an appreciation for anticipation. It is the antithesis of instant gratification.

Hiding is completely worthless by any time management or productivity standards: you are silently lying in wait for someone for no reason other than to find a perfect moment to pounce...and show that you think they're important enough to...take the time laying in wait hiding from them. It's a respect thing.

I suppose technically we are talking more about Spying than Hiding, as it is difficult to really hide from someone if they're not looking for you.

Hiding is beneficial in the same way that Playing is beneficial.

There is no reason behind it. You do it because it is fun and unnecessary and unquantifiable.

Tip: if you are hiding under a load of laundry, make sure it is a clean pile.

-excerpted from 1.26.11