![\"\"](\"https:\/\/advent.starskyhutchcalendar.net\/2012\/calendar\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/12\/Christmas-Santa-Reading-Mail-edited.jpg\" "\\"Christmas")
<\/a><\/p>\nDecember 22, 1953<\/em><\/span><\/strong> The ancient cuckoo clock struck ten o\u2019clock. Whistler, Santa Claus\u2019s Head Elf and Chief of Staff, looked up from his task list and gritted his teeth. He hated that clock as much as Santa loved it. To his round-bellied, white-bearded boss, the clock represented whimsy and allegorical innocence. To Whistler, it was a constant reminder of deadlines, bleating out warnings in its maniacal cackle.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The windows of Santa\u2019s North Pole Caucus Room framed a view of winter darkness and driving snow. The fire crackled and snapped, warming Santa as he sat hunched forward at the conference table, plowing his way through a mountainous stack of folders. Each folder contained more than pieces of paper. As Whistler well knew, each held a child\u2019s special wish.<\/p>\n The intensity of this year\u2019s nightly status meetings would go down in the record books. In his more than 150 years on the job, Whistler couldn\u2019t recall a December filled with as many last minute snags and special requests.<\/p>\n Opening the door, Whistler summoned his elf helpers from the antechamber. With silent hand signals, he cued them to refill the oil lamps and fetch another plate of cookies for Santa. As always, they did his bidding with silent efficiency. Nodding his thanks, Whistler brusquely shooed them back down the corridor to their workbenches.<\/p>\n Santa reached for his pipe. He struck a match and puffed away, closing the last of the folders.<\/p>\n Whistler poured the tea and added a splash of reindeer milk along with sugar. Christmas couldn\u2019t come and go fast enough. The big jolly guy was stressed out but good. At least the end was in sight\u2014two days until show time.<\/p>\n \u201cHave we finished with tonight\u2019s problem reports?\u201d Santa asked. He balanced his spectacles on his head, rubbed his tired eyes, and then dipped his hand into the cookie plate.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Whistler said. He placed his red \u2018Action Required\u2019 binder on the table. \u201cTwo new letters arrived with the evening post. Both have unusual circumstances. I\u2019ve escalated them for your decision, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n Santa tut-tutted, conveying annoyance at the honorific. He liked to think of himself as a member of the proletariat. Whistler knew better. Only one man reigned supreme here, and he wore a red suit.<\/p>\n Holding out a pale and plump hand, Santa waited.<\/p>\n Whistler passed him the first letter, along with a picture of the boy who wrote it.<\/p>\n Finishing up a snicker doodle, Santa read and sat back, tapping his finger against his red lips. \u201cDavid Starsky. Brooklyn, New York. Age ten,\u201d he said. He examined the black and white photograph, skimming his fingers over its surface, gleaning insights. The boy\u2019s hair was a dark mop of wild curls, and his smile was bold and charming. His eyes shone with keen intelligence and mischief. It was clear that he was a natural leader and an occasional brawler\u2014fearless in confrontation, willing to stand up to unfairness.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s the rest of this lad\u2019s file?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe doesn\u2019t have a file. Gobi and his archive team conducted a full record search. David Starsky is a first timer. He is also Jewish.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe is a persuasive little rascal.\u201d Santa smiled, but sadness crinkled at the corners of his eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s a hellion with a tender and flamboyant heart,\u201d Whistler added. Centuries of experience served him well. He could read the characters of children in his sleep.<\/p>\n \u201cYoung Master Starsky has spunk and optimism,\u201d Santa said. \u201cBut he is often caught in the middle. His mother has a nervous constitution, and at present, his father is injured. Both parents are prone to inconsistency in communication. When their lives move in a smooth direction, they humor their oldest son, along with his high spirits and pranks. When they experience chaos, they reprimand him for the very things they previously praised. They tell him to grow up and be responsible, yet in the next breath, they send signals that he is a mere child who knows nothing.<\/p>\n \u201cThey want to control him, as though he is the stage built for their own traumas and fears and hopes. As his letter shows, while David does not judge his parents, he is sad and resentful.\u201d He picked up the letter, written on lined paper with a dull-pointed number two pencil. Clearing his throat, he read aloud.<\/p>\n Dear Santa,<\/em><\/p>\n My name is David Starsky and I\u2019m ten years old. Ma would blister my butt if she knew I was writing you, but I thought I\u2019d give it a shot anyway. My Pa\u2019s a cop. He busted up a robbery last week and got stabbed. Now he\u2019s home all day until he can go back to work. He\u2019s worried about money. My Ma is always in my face. She\u2019s worrying about Pa and my fresh mouth and my friends and my report card and my little brother, Nicky. The problem is, when Ma and Pa worry, it comes back on me. Today, Pa grounded me for fighting. I wasn\u2019t fighting. I was protecting my baby brother from a bully. Now, Ma won\u2019t let me out of the apartment to play with my friends. She\u2019s afraid I\u2019ll get mixed up with hoodlums. <\/em><\/p>\n Anyway, I hear you\u2019ve got pretty good magic and you grant wishes. My wish is to have some time for myself and a life of my own. You know, so my parents stop smothering me and explaining me to me. I can\u2019t hardly breathe. I don\u2019t got any freedom. I don\u2019t want any toys. I want to be free. Oh\u2014 I\u2019m Jewish. I don\u2019t know if that matters to you. And I haven\u2019t been all that good this year, but I\u2019ve been better than most of my friends. I hope that counts.<\/em><\/p>\n Yours truly,<\/em><\/p>\n David Starsky<\/em><\/p>\n Santa reached for another cookie. He chewed, rereading the letter and musing.<\/p>\n \u201cThe boy\u2019s wish is impossible,\u201d Whistler said.<\/p>\n \u201cPerhaps. But perhaps not.\u201d Santa rubbed his beard. \u201cThis boy is brimming with uncontained energy. He thinks of freedom as a destination, as a place outside of himself. He is still too young to understand that freedom can be a state of being, grounded in the understanding of self. Right now, he seeks permission to indulge his every impulse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAs I said,\u201d Whistler repeated, \u201cwhat he requests is beyond the scope of our workshop.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Santa chided. \u201cWe need to think creatively. David Starsky has a sharp and curious mind. Yes, he\u2019s a rebel in the making, but his soul contains not one shred of malice. However, too much of his energy is devoted to resenting factors he cannot change. We need something to contain him, to redirect his frustration and tap his enthusiasm\u2014something to focus him in the here and now, to build his confidence and reward his patience.\u201d<\/p>\n Whistler listened silently, adding encouraging nods at Santa\u2019s words.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s challenge his mind,\u201d Santa said. \u201cHe enjoys solving problems. Let\u2019s find a gift for both his brain and his hands.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about an Erector Set?\u201d Whistler asked. \u201cThe workshop elves have fascinating new kits this year\u2014skyscrapers and bridges and rocket ships.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExcellent choice! Assembling the models will tap into his creativity, consume his imagination, and teach him about rewards of concentration and careful work.\u201d Santa cracked a relieved smile. \u201cMake it two Erector Sets, the most extravagant models we have. And throw in a fleet of toy trucks for his baby brother. Well done.\u201d<\/p>\n He clipped a work order to the new David Starsky folder and set it aside. \u201cNow. Did you mention a second letter?\u201d<\/p>\n Yes,\u201d Whistler said. He slid a thick file across the table. \u201cIt is repeat business. Kenneth Hutchinson, also age ten, of Duluth, Minnesota.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAhhhh.\u201d Santa opened the folder and scanned. \u201cI see we have a pair of racing skis in production, exactly as he asked. What is the problem?\u201d<\/p>\n Whistler tapped on the letter. \u201cHe\u2019s had a change of heart.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRead the letter to me.\u201d Santa slumped back in his big wooden chair, hands folded in his lap.<\/p>\n Adjusting his eyeglasses, Whistler squinted at the small and neatly formed letters on the page.<\/p>\n Dear Santa,<\/em><\/p>\n Sorry to bother you again. I know my first letter asked you for new downhill racing skis. I got to thinking, and wanted to tell you I don\u2019t want those skis. My father\u2019s the one who wants me to have them. If you bring me those skis, he\u2019ll make me compete on the ski team again this year and I don\u2019t want to. I wish I could make him proud, but I don\u2019t when I ski. I only disappoint him. <\/em><\/p>\n What I really want is a life of my own. I want to see what\u2019s outside of Duluth\u2014I want to see and know everything. I want to understand what I think and what I care about. But I can\u2019t, because my father is always busy telling me who I am and what he sees in me. <\/em><\/p>\n If I can\u2019t have freedom, is it okay to ask for nothing this year?<\/em><\/p>\n Your friend,<\/em><\/p>\n Kenneth Hutchinson<\/em><\/p>\n Santa frowned and jotted new notes on margin of the letter. He looked at the photograph clipped to the folder. A winsome blond-haired boy smiled shyly from the picture. Kenneth Hutchinson was an affectionate child\u2014a peacemaker whose obedient demeanor hid a deep wellspring of anger and sorrow. He was a misfit in a family defined by emotional distance and relentless control. \u201cI remember this boy,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I remember his father\u2014an overachiever who won\u2019t ease up on his son.\u201d<\/p>\n His fingers fretted over the rim of his teacup. The problem cases\u2014when children\u2019s entreaties moved beyond simple pleas for toys and into the ways adults shaped their worlds\u2014always hit him like a blow below the belt.<\/p>\n Understanding all too well, Whistler gave a small nod of sympathy. He removed Santa\u2019s teacup and reached for the bottle of brandy and two snifters on the credenza. Pouring a generous glug in each glass, he sat back to await further orders.<\/p>\n Santa emptied his brandy glass in one long swallow. \u201cCancel the skis.\u201d<\/p>\n Whistler stamped \u2018Remove from Production\u2019 on the Hutchinson work order. \u201cHow about a puppy instead?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a very bad idea, Whistler.\u201d Santa puffed on his pipe and exhaled a cloud of cherry scented smoke. \u201cA puppy is too risky for a boy like this, in a family like this. His parents view him as a commodity more than a person. He is merely a reflection of them, and his feelings are of little matter. If he disappoints his father, the punishment could mean taking his puppy away. No. We cannot risk giving joy that could backfire and break his heart.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWisely put.\u201d Whistler nursed his brandy.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s bring the world to him,\u201d Santa said. \u201cThe boy dreams of freedom and faraway places. Give him a set of encyclopedias and a gazetteer. As he reads, he will gain knowledge about destinations and ways of life he cannot even yet imagine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell chosen, sir.\u201d Whistler dipped his pen into the inkwell and updated his list. \u201cNow, I am pleased to report that tonight\u2019s work is done.\u201d<\/p>\n Santa pulled the photographs of the boys from the folders and placed them side by side on the table. There was an existential quality about their letters arriving simultaneously. On the surface, David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson were opposites\u2014of dark and light, of extrovert and introvert, of confidence and shyness. What they shared was an eagerness to leave the chains of childhood behind. And an aching loneliness. Their Christmas wishes spoke in one voice. Dear Santa\u2014please give me a life of my own.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI have a feeling about these two lads,\u201d Santa said. The lantern glow captured his pensive look and his ruddy cheeks.<\/p>\n \u201cSanta\u2019s intuition?\u201d Whistler knew Santa\u2019s moments of prognostication, more often than not, hit the mark.<\/p>\n \u201cThese two dissimilar boys will meet someday,\u201d Santa promised. \u201cTheir life journeys will intersect.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou sound confident,\u201d Whistler said.<\/p>\n \u201cI am.\u201d Santa refilled his glass. It was more than the nightcap fueling his vision of these boys and fate\u2019s preordination that their paths would cross. Here, in his frozen outpost, he was privy to a glimpse of the future.<\/p>\n Santa smiled. Yes. He knew. When David and Kenneth finally met, each would be the other\u2019s most precious gift\u2014the mutual realization of their deepest and unspoken yearnings.<\/p>\n He knew the undeniable fact of these boys and their someday future. Just as he knew the North Star would peer over his shoulder on his long Christmas Eve sleigh ride\u2026 just as he knew that Venus, cold in the brittle dawn sky, would steer him safely home.<\/p>\n ~finis~<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" December 22, 1953 The North Pole Santa\u2019s Caucus Room The ancient cuckoo clock struck ten o\u2019clock. Whistler, Santa Claus\u2019s Head Elf and Chief of Staff, looked up from his task list and gritted his teeth. He hated that clock … Continue reading
\nThe North Pole
\n<\/em><\/span><\/strong>Santa\u2019s Caucus Room<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n