There goes Santa Claus


dour santa                                   running_boy

By Tiber

Since Dad does remind some people of Henry VIII, one of his friends half-seriously said he ought to make a few bucks by hiring out as a store Santa Claus.

Dad has a cold (never a good thing) and he roared that he was “too lean, too mean and too codeined” to even consider it.  And besides, even though he enjoyed scaring his own children, he didn’t see the appeal in scaring other peoples’ kids. When it was pointed out that the idea was to make other peoples’ kids happy, then he said he definitely was out.

The reason I think Dad reminds people of Henry VIII is that, to his credit, he’s one of those great “eaters” of life. I always want to be a great “eater” of life too but more often than not, I look at life’s food, whine about it and then try to send it back.

My father just goes for it. Where most people drift off, he’s very present, very in the moment. He loves drinking microbrew beers out of a pewter tankard. He also loves military history and pie – which is all Henry VIIIish, now that I think about it. And if Dad can gather all of these things together at the same time, then his life is good.

Though my brother Duncan is worse, they also both have something of a cruel streak. Being a fan of chewy nougat candy, my father thinks it’s very funny to hand it out during a business meeting and then immediately hit up the participants with questions requiring long answers. He really enjoys watching their struggle to reply in detail without yanking their teeth out and flinging them across the room.

So, all in all, it’s probably best to keep Dad away from the Santa suit. He also pointed out that if anybody in the store had called him “jolly, cherubic, chipmunk-cheeked or a saint,” he would  have had to shoot himself, causing the worst “cleanup on aisle 3” the store had ever seen.

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