I try to love this time of year. I really do.
Every year I start out with good intentions, high hopes. This will be the Christmas season when I am bursting at the freaking seams with spirit, practically shoving goodwill towards men. (Take that anyway you want.)
But I am usually brought down by one thing: the greed of small children.
Last year, I tried to take steps to mitigate it. It didn’t work so well.
A couple of months ago, I tried another tactic, with the adoption of our “foster child”, Bob.
This week, I tried to combine the two.
“You know, with Christmas coming up, we should try to send a little extra something to Babulal.”
“OK. Maybe we could send him a Christmas card.” My 5 year old son is learning to read and write, and this sounds like something he can do.
“Sure. Why don’t you write him a special message?”
He goes to work. He is armed with markers, paper, and a tenuous grasp on phonics.
With a triumphant flourish, he gives me the finished product.
Can’t quite make it out? Here, let’s try it with spaces.
“U r lucky that we are giving mo money.”
Which part of this note do you think disturbs me more?
1. The fact that the kid does not have a cell phone yet, but he’s already speaking in text (U R? WTF?).
2. The fact that he’s using ebonics, and that they’re slightly dated (mo’ money? Next thing you know, he’ll be weighing in on what really went down with Biggie and Tupac).
3. The fact that he’s taken something that should have been touching and heartwarming and made it vaguely threatening.
4. The fact that the whole shooting match is written on NASCAR note paper. We’re not those people.