For some reason, Christmas nostalgia has overwhelmed me this year as I approach the end of my seventh decade on this beautiful planet.
As a result, perhaps because of listening to one of my holiday music favorites, “Santa, Baby” by Eartha Kitt, and the male version, “Santa, Buddy,” I decided to write my own letter to the North Pole, not in song or poem, but simply in words:
Dear Santa, Buddy,
I don’t need all the things that the singers request. However, I would really enjoy getting a Roku streaming player, a used car that would get me from here to there and back again, an inexpensive recorder for recording interviews, and I really could use enough ch-ching to put me a few months ahead on rent, a few bills, food and other expenses. The latter would be much more appreciated than fruitcakes or cheeseballs, but that sounds rather tacky when I put it down in words.
Unfortunately, Santa, buddy, I don’t have a chimney or a tree, and there are deadbolt and chain locks on the door, so I don't know how you can get inside my humble abode. But, Santa, buddy, you're the man, and I would bet you can find a way.
Like many senior citizens and younger folks who live in my neighborhood, it’s hard to get by on Social Security payments, and I won’t receive my next one until the day after my landmark birthday. Because of somewhat complicated circumstances that I won’t bore you with, I depend on others for transportation to the grocery store, the pharmacy and the doctor’s office. I’m beginning to look like an old hippie, because I haven’t been to the barber since July.
Please don't misunderstand me. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I like my life despite the few inconveniences, and you should see some of the delicious recipes I’ve developed with Ramen noodles purchased with my allocated $16 in food stamps.
I walk down the hill to the closest convenience store, but the worsening bad back, legs and feet sometimes make it difficult. My eyesight is getting blurrier and dimmer, and that causes frustration when I walk down that hill after dark and find myself off the pavement and in the grass, looking for the North Star to get my bearings.
But I really shouldn’t complain about anything, although my few friends would probably call 9-1-1 if I didn’t. They would fear that I was really sick.
All I have to do is look around me and I literally see neighbors, young and old, who are having to deal with greater hardships than I. Many have health problems, mental and physical. Several younger residents suffer PTSD (post-traumatic stress syndrome) from military tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, and a few others from the Vietnam era may be going through the same thing. Many of my younger neighbors are unemployed and depressed because they have to try to collect unemployment benefits and are sometimes seem to be somewhat self-loathing because they know they are not being productive and therefore unable to adequately provide for their families. Some simply have nowhere else to go. Santa, it would be fantastic if you could surprise all these folks, especially the children, with some canned goods and toys on Christmas Day. And maybe a job offer for the unemployed or under-employed adults in the house who really want one?
I’ve been a fairly good boy this year, Santa, buddy. No alcohol, no drug abuse, no sex, and I can’t remember the last time I kissed someone or that someone kissed me, even under the mistletoe. I’ve tried not to think naughty thoughts, but that's getting easier as memories fade with age. I haven’t stolen from anyone, and I don’t think I’ve been too judgmental, except toward Republicans and those who profess but don’t really practice Christianity. I’ve been grateful for neighbors who occasionally give me a good meal, a ride to wherever I need to go and who show genuine concern about my health and well-being. I hope that you, Santa, will be especially good to them.
Thanks for listening, Santa, buddy. Please overlook your naughty list and sprinkle your happiness-inducing magic mixed in with peace and love over every household.
Your friend,
Toney
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Dear God,
Forgive me of my many sins and transgressions, although I guess that is redundant. I pray that I will be a better person, spreading love and peace, and that I’ll continue to fight hate, hypocrisy and bigotry and try to be a giver, not a taker.
Bless my friends, acquaintances, relatives, and even those who might want to do me harm with the surrounding of your mantle of protection and love. Keep them healthy and safe. Bless them with the spirit of love, peace and happiness.
I’d pray to win the lottery, but You have more important things to do in this screwed-up world of ours than to give me a handout of winning numbers in a dream or through a burning bush.
Even though I may have nearly nothing in the way of money or material things, put it in my heart to share what I do have with those who need it more than I. I know that through You, I will always have what I truly need. I pray that I will someday be able to give back even more to the people of the world than they have given me.
Dear God, I pray that your mantle of protection and love will be around this whole troubled world, giving everyone the miracle of peace on earth, just as I pray that your mantle of protection and love will be around me.
I ask these things in the name of Jesus Christ, forever and ever.
Amen.
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And dear reader, no matter what your religion, or lack of same, or whatever your feelings about the holiday season may be, my wishes for you and yours are to have a ...
MERRY CHRISTMAS
and a
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
www.toneyatkins.com/
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