Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I imagine you must be broken-hearted over those poor children in Newtown; I am too, Santa. Those poor little kids will never get to ride their new Christmas bikes or play with their new dolls, their new firetrucks, or anything ever again. And I’m sorry for that, Santa. I know how you love the little children, and I wish to God we could learn to do the same. I can only hope that the gruesome deaths of 20 little kids will shock some sanity into this country, but honestly? I’m not feeling too hopeful on that score, Santa. I’m sorry, and I am ashamed of some of my fellow Americans; guys like Wayne LaPierre and that odious Phelps clan. They aren’t who we are, Santa, not at all.

As for me, Santa, I’ve had kind of a tough year, and it got tougher about a week ago when I lost most of my income. Thanks to the extreme kindness and generosity of some of my friends, Santa (they are shining examples of how we should treat each other), I can pay my January rent. The thing is, Santa, after that, well, I don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills.

So, if you have time, Santa, I’d like a job for Christmas. It doesn’t have to be posh corner office kind of job; no, it just needs to be a job that pays enough for me to get by and pay my rent and my bills while I keep looking. And if you could make my boss a nice person, that would be much appreciated.

If you grant my wish, Santa, I promise I’ll pay it forward every day.

And if you could, Santa, please do something very special for those lovely friends of mine. Thanks.

I know you’re sad, Santa; we all are, but there are a lot of us still with good hearts who believe in you and the spirit of the holiday.

Merry Christmas, big fella.

Much love from your friend,



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