tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50667551386247498962011-04-21T19:46:04.843-07:00What happens when you give Father Christmas a keyboard?Santa Claushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00211400551277801012noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5066755138624749896.post-63470324116023047692008-12-05T23:41:00.000-08:002008-12-05T23:51:18.503-08:00<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">What do you want for Christmas?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div>I ask that 75 times a day. Maybe more. You'd think that at the end of my time as Santa Claus, I'd reflect and decide upon my favorite answer. Well, I already have.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I want my daddy to come home.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div>That's what the boy told me. At first, I was a little uncomfortable. Maybe his father passed away. Maybe he left. But the boy's mother filled me in: daddy is overseas - in Iraq.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's some pretty heavy stuff for a part-time St. Nick. I said what I could to encourage the little guy and asked him what else he wanted. He mentioned one of those new Nintendos. I told him I'd do my best, but only if he was a good boy.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know if he could pick, he'd pick his dad over a Nintendo any day of the week.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5066755138624749896-6347032411602304769?l=mallsanta.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Santa Claushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00211400551277801012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5066755138624749896.post-80409190304641224002008-11-30T23:43:00.000-08:002008-12-01T11:07:19.584-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Name: Withheld</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Location: Also withheld, but let's just say a shopping mall somewhere in the Midwest</span></div><div><br /></div><div>If you asked me why I decided to become a mall Santa, you might laugh at the reason.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I'm bored. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>Really, that's it. Retirement hasn't yet lived up to my expectations - I spend most of my time in front of the television or at the kitchen table. I'm divorced. The kids have been gone for years. I had a long and prosperous career, but that's in the history books. Boredom might actually be my number one qualification for the job. I guess it also doesn't hurt that I'm a little overweight and that I went grey in my thirties.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've always liked Christmas, ever since I was young. I liked it all: the food, the music, and (especially) the presents. As an adult, I took my kids to see the mall Santa every year, even when they were too old and begged me not to go. It was tradition.</div><div><br /></div><div>This year, I wanted to be a part of that tradition again. I was actually a little nervous turning in my application! But I started a few days ago and, so far, it has been a blast. I get paid to make kids (and adults) smile! What could be better than that?</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd like to share this experience with everybody out there, so for the next few weeks I'll be blogging - another first for me. Here we go...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5066755138624749896-8040919030464122400?l=mallsanta.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Santa Claushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00211400551277801012noreply@blogger.com2