All I Want For Christmas

Another child left the fake snow platform and the jolly man looked up, his rosy cheeks sparkling. "All right, who's next?"

"I am, Santa," replied Jason M. Swiftly, hopping up on Santa's lap. The little boy looked up at St. Nick with a seriousness uncommon for a six-year-old.

"What do you want for Christmas, little boy?" asked Jolly St. Nick. Jason folded his hands and took a breath, looking out at his father. Mr. Swiftly stood next to the platform, arms crossed, shaking his head. Then Jason turned back to Santa.

"I want stellar rhetorical and debate skills for Christmas. This and this only," replied the little boy. Mr. Swiftly sighed out of frustration and Santa looked at Jason with a bit of consternation, lifting one of his furry eyebrows.

"You're sure that's what you want for Christmas?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"All right. I'll see what I can do. Have a Merry Christmas."

On the last school day before Christmas break, Jason M. Swiftly and his best friend Samuel F. Norton walked on the playground, with their hands behind their backs. "I visited Santa Claus this previous Saturday, Samuel."

"Oh really? Did all go as planned, my friend?" asked Samuel, taking out his pipe and striking a match.

"Certainly," replied Jason, "I asked Santa for superior rhetorical and debate skills, and I shall undoubtedly attain them." Just then, Frank J. Vanderslice, the school bully, was passing by.

"You fool," scoffed the bully, "Santa Claus isn't real." Jason C. Swiftly turned to him abruptly and without fear.

"Really? Well, that depends on what your definition of real is. Do you see reality as what you can only touch or feel, or those things that play a vital role in your psychological well-being? I could surely say that Santa Claus isn't completely real, due to the unbelievability of his flying reindeer and one night trip around the world, but what benefit might I find from such a pessimistic supposition? In my mind, it is better to appreciate those parts of life that inspire the magical and sentimental quality of childhood rather than the more menial aspects of existence that will be with me always. I am but six years old, Mr. Vanderslice. I have the rest of my life to lose faith in the simple things. Can I not atleast enjoy my innocence for the time being without you infringing upon it?"

Frank J. Vanderslice stared at Jason for a moment. "My apologies," he whispered, bowing and walking away.

"Well played, old boy," mused Samuel, puffing at his pipe. Jason looked to the sky, his belief in Santa Claus ever stronger. And for a moment, the sound of sleigh bells seemed to cascade through the frosty air.