Here we are again. It comes around faster and faster each year, any faster I’m going to get dizzy. I know, it didn’t exactly just sneak up on us. Ever since Target stocked its shelves with chattering skulls, Styrofoam tombstones, bags of overpriced Kit Kats and cheesy costumes, we’ve known it was coming. Just two aisles away from the oranges and blacks was that other aisle already decked out in greens and reds. Weren’t the three-ring binders, composition books, and mechanical pencils just at that very spot only a few weeks back? No, there were no surprise greetings from this season. We saw it coming a mile away. Yet more evidence that I am becoming my parents, saying things like, “Christmas sure comes earlier and earlier every year.” ‘Tis the season of candy canes, inflatable lawn decorations, stockings, gingerbread houses, snow globes, nutcrackers and the web of lies. That’s right, lies. The white lies my parents told me were one thing, but our generation has taken falsehoods to entirely new heights. And I must admit, with all the warm fuzzy magical excitement I feel jingling through my bones this time of year, I also experience another feeling…guilt.
In just a few days, I suppose Blaze will be making a fifth annual appearance, hanging out high beyond the reach of curious hands. One-touch from a human will stifle his Christmas magic, or so the lie goes. Blaze is our Elf on the Shelf, a behavior modification device apparently used by multitudes of people. Whoever invented this doll is probably wealthy beyond belief. Another case of Why didn’t I think of that phenomenon. The idea grew from a self-published book specifying the particulars of Elf ownership. When you decide to upgrade to the doll, you choose a gender, a name, even a skin color. After that, the elf’s job is simple: sit motionless by day with a sinister grin frozen on its face keeping a watchful eye out for naughty list potential. Then under the cover of night, magically transport itself to the North Pole in order to deliver a full behavior report to the big guy himself. In some circles, this would be called a mole or snitch, in others, simply a dirty rat. I can’t even tell you how this strange doll even made it into our holiday storage crate, but he’s there now. All hope of ditching this charade was lost last year when a line of Elf on the Shelf outfits was unveiled. Now Blaze sports a bathrobe and slippers. It appears he’s as firmly entrenched in our home as I am in this ongoing fallacy.
It wouldn’t be so bad if my wife and I weren’t so doggone good at keeping up the deception. Some of Blaze’s observation spots are pure genius, hanging upside down from the pot rack, scaling curtains, swinging from the chandelier to name a few. Blaze has even been known to steal a holiday treat or two, the powdered sugar around his creepy smile told the story. Occasionally, while drifting off to sleep, my wife will roll over to ask, “Did you move Blaze?” The answer comes in the form of me springing from the bed and on to the cold hardwoods, searching for a new spot for the elf spy. Something is very wrong with the picture of my cold bare feet tucking a doll with slippers into another high up crevice. Every morning brings a new search for my boys. “Have you guys seen Blaze yet?” I ask.
As we get closer to the big day, Blaze takes his diurnal residence in the Christmas tree. In Blaze’s inaugural year, he sat notched between those green, fragrant needles. Moving up the staircase to bed, Boogie Down called, “Goodnight Blaze!” Big Deal followed, “Tell Santa we’ve been good!” Just then, the elf slipped from his perch, his fall broken by a lower branch. As Blaze precariously clung for his life, Big Deal said, “Wow! Did you see that?!?” The still quivering branch shook as proof that Blaze was real. The lie had become foolproof. My only thought was that if Blaze had hit the floor the holiday magic could have been dealt a fatal blow. Only to be resuscitated by, you guessed it… more lies.
How had the simple fib of Santa’s magic come to this? There is something fundamentally wrong with my Importance of Honesty lecture when the Elf on the Shelf is peering over my shoulder as I detail the importance of trust and truth-telling. A bathrobe-clad, pointy hat wearing, sideways staring, grinning lie. My guilt climaxed at some point toward the end of Boogie Down’s 4th-grade year. He came home from school questioning the existence of Santa Claus. A lunch table discussion had occurred leaving him with some serious questions. I asked him if he had taken part in this discussion, my heart stopped as I awaited his response. Had he defended the honesty, integrity, and honor of his parents? Had he fought the good fight knowing that his Mom and Dad would never lead him astray? Thankfully he had not. He just listened as these magic starved, doubting classmates spewed negativity through their chocolate milk straws. But what if he had defended his parents? Talk about guilt. I couldn’t stand it, we had to talk. It went well enough. No tears, no, “How could you?” rebukes; I don’t think he holds a grudge or lost trust. Now Boogie Down has switched sides. Today he acts as an accomplice in continuing this sham on his younger siblings.
Did my parents deal with such a dilemma? If they did, it certainly didn’t reach this level of deception, nor did they reach this level of guilt. Plus their behavior modification methods were quite different, lacking today’s pomp and circumstance. More like a pomp for every circumstance. I suppose I can deal with the guilt I feel; I know there’s a higher purpose. To create a fun and magical excitement around a season that, for my sons, takes an eternity to come around each year. Hopefully, we’ll instill lifelong warm memories of giving, family, and love. Much like the ones I carry with me (which, by the way, didn’t take a machine washable elf to achieve). Nevertheless, this is our reality and this new tradition will survive at least one more year. Just don’t expect Blaze to show up wearing a motorcycle jacket or a tux.
The boys sent their Santa letters already this year. Perhaps I'll feel better if we forgo the personalized video response sent from his workshop office this year.
