Jest' Fore Christmas

 

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl - ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake -
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Got a clipper  sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know
That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still,
His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz,
That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,
Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;
So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men,
An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;
But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree,
Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

Eugene Field

Born September 3' 1850

Died November 4, 1895

Santa Claus

Well, once again Christmas is just around the corner, let’s see, this will be number Sixty-one for me. Funny, but Santa Claus doesn’t bring me anything anymore, and hasn’t in a long time.

Did you ever believe in Santa Claus?   What a lie, huh? And to tell little kids, and lead them to believe such things.… Ever wonder why we do that? I bet most people couldn’t tell ya today.

My daddy lied to me all the time, it was terrible… And every now and then, mama would tell a whopper! I use to wonder, why in the hell would they lie to me? I mean? I’m their kid!

Now don’t get me wrong. They loved me. There was never any doubt of it. I knew that. It showed. They took good care of me, put clothes on me, educated me, and for a big part, did so themselves. So, why would they lie to me so damn much?

It took me awhile, but I finally figured it out…  Santa Claus.

Santa Claus is the first Big Lie… And you as the child, using information you gather, are left to figure otherwise. They are simply teaching you to 'think for yourself.'  And the myth of Santa Claus is a good foundation for critical thinking.

Another important lesson, is teaching the ability to challenge authority (the parents) when the child draws a conclusion.

Notice there is no reward when the child figures it out, but nor is there a punishment. Thinking for yourself… is its own reward. ©

George Henry Nichols