Santa is a Thief

From the time I was able to comprehend the concept of Christmas, something always bothered me about Santa Claus. I remember sitting in the living room watching Rudolph, Frosty, Charlie Brown, and all the other holiday shows that I loved as a child. The anticipation on Christmas Eve was always too much for my overdeveloped imagination. I would stay up until 11pm, go to bed, lay there awake until 3am, and wake up at 5am Christmas morning. I would sneak out to the Christmas tree to see what Santa had left for me and my sister. Careful not to wake up my parents, I would then wake my sister to tell of the generosity of this stranger who would leave us everything we asked for all because we were "good" throughout the year (though I bet my mother would say otherwise).


For the first six years of my innocent life I would go through this ritual every Christmas until my imagination got the best of me.

It dawned on me if Santa could come into my house in the middle of the night and leave me presents, what would stop him from coming in to my room while I was asleep and steal all my toys?


Christmas Eve from that year forward became a time of planning and worry. How was I going to stay awake to guarantee that the fat guy in a red suit didn't take my stuff and give it to other kids? I would pretend to be tired and go to my room much earlier on Christmas Eve, usually around 7pm. But the fact was, I wasn't tired. I had to work, and I had to hurry.


First, I needed an army. I needed people I could trust who would have my back when the going got tough. I also needed people who would either work cheaply or work because they were intimidated by me. Unfortunately, that ruled out all of America. It did however, give me my one true ally, my sister.

The recruiting of my sister was quite simple. I informed her that if Santa didn't steal her toys... I would.
With my newly found indentured servant I was ready to catch this imposturous thief.


We started by stockpiling empty boxes in my closet and hiding all my favorite toys in them. I even went so far as to label some of the boxes things that I knew Santa would never want. On Christmas day you could walk into my closet and find boxes labeled "undirwer", "dishs", and "trash". There was no way I was going to give up my stuff without a fight.


After spending the evening labeling my boxes, my trap was set. I grabbed a flashlight and waited under my always trusty blankey. My slave sister apparently didn't worry as much as I. She would always be asleep thirty minutes after lying down.


I was eight when I thought I caught him. I finished my ritual of hiding my toys and was lying in bed when my door started to open. I was tired so I couldn't be too sure. But, I think the door started to open. Instantly, I was awake, flashlight in hand, ready to shout out and scare away this intruder. As my door opened, I leaped out of bed screaming "Out of my room!!! You can't have my toys!!!" I was hysterical. I also terrified my mother, who for some unknown reason, was coming into my room with a plastic bag full of stuff. She dropped the bag and ran towards me to make sure I was okay. When I realized it was her I explained what I was doing and thought I had gained another soldier in my fight. Now that I knew mom was going to protect my stuff, I could rest easier.


Unfortunately for me, my struggles to stop Santa came to a screeching halt in 1982 when I realized Santa wasn't ever going to steal my toys. Santa would never break into my house to steal anything. Santa was coming into my house in the middle of the night to leave me presents that he bought.... from K-Mart.

Those damn price tags. Parents, make sure you take off those damn price tags.