Cowards at Christmas

Once again, I’m writing in this blog post because I have nothing better to do on a Monday afternoon. You must be wondering as to why this post is titled “Cowards at Christmas”, so I will explain as quickly as possible.

Today at the courthouse in Downtown Baltimore was the closing remarks for the first police officer being tried for the death of Freddie Gray. Everyone pretty much still remembers that horrible riot that broke out 20 minutes from my hometown and now my biggest concern is that another protest will break out when I go to my volunteer work site tomorrow. Did I mention I work at the Library for the Blind on Park Avenue downtown in Baltimore City?

All I do is sort large print and audio books and put them on shelves, or pull them from shelves and send them out to consumers who use this state-funded service. I am not looking forward to tomorrow at all, because there will probably be some major traffic in the city and I don’t want to get caught in it, especially not the protest.

My supervisor at the Library asked me for my phone number today just in case she needs to call me to say not to come in. That’s one good thing I can look forward to, even though this morning I felt super groggy that I did not want to leave the bed at first. I still came to work anyway.

My afternoon was a mess. Two men hassled me and gave me a hard time on the bus when I was on my way to see someone and the sidewalk was blocked off by construction workers as I was headed to see said person I needed to meet with to sign some papers. The regular Towson library was a pain too because one of their public computers failed to work with me that I nearly got asked to leave the premises because my anger time-bomb was almost ready to detonate. I did say I was sorry for any problems I caused in there; I didn’t want a repeat of what happened this past July.

To sum up my day: Get. Me. Out. Of. Maryland. Today, people. Today!

So right now, I’m thinking about Santa Claus for some reason. Last week, I stopped by The Avenue at White Marsh to go holiday craft shopping at A.C. Moore so I could crochet some Christmas presents for some friends, when I found a gold mailbox in sitting in front of Barnes and Noble. Out in front of the mailbox, it said: North Pole Post Office “Santa’s Letters”.

There was a note below on the box, which said something along the lines of, “Don’t worry, Santa will get his letter in time, just drop it off here and you might get a letter back from him in time for Christmas!”

It gave me a little bit of an idea to write something along the lines of a letter to a certain someone, even though it’s been an incredibly long time since I believed in a man in a big red suit. I’ve grown up and stopped believing in Santa Claus since I was a teenager, knowing that my parents took care of everything instead of someone with a reindeer drawn sleigh. After all, my dad showed me the “engineer’s explanation” of how Santa could go door to door, traveling 3,000 times faster than the speed of sound to get tons of gifts to each household around the world, if there was one good Christian child in each of the 108 million homes.

If you want to see this “explanation” as a scientist would determine if Santa Claus ever existed, click here >>> (It’s called a “perspective”.)

Now, given the fact that there’s a mailbox in the middle of White Marsh, and the web site page gives a hint to parents to take a peek at the list before sending it, I have a feeling that nobody actually reads these letters but the parents. The mailbox itself acts like a wishing well, like the fountains I used to see in the shopping malls where you threw in a penny or a quarter and made a wish for good luck, when really you’re just throwing money away. Therefore, I’m wondering what the strip mall is going to do with all that wasted craft and loose leaf paper of little children’s handwriting.

The idea of me writing a letter to Santa Claus asking him for hope is not sounding like a good idea anymore. Maybe it’s something to pitch at “What The Crap”, but I don’t know anymore since I won’t be back at the center until January.

Then again, I’ve also just watched a movie that I may or may not want to own so I could refer back for another fanfiction. Disney/ Pixar’s Inside Out was a wild rollercoaster of emotion where I cried at the moment Sadness became a hero and saved Riley from running away from home. That was probably the second time I cried over a Disney movie, the first time being on Toy Story 3 where Andy finds Woody at the bottom of the box. Then again, I think everybody cried at that movie, just not at the same parts, like the furnace scene.

INSIDE OUT - Pictured: Joy. ©2015 Disney•Pixar. All Rights Reserved.

But with Inside Out, the tears were flowing more rapidly. That’s the very first time a movie actually made me do that. No wonder my mother couldn’t handle Sadness. Talk about a sentimental movie that gets your emotions pulled! (My favorite part of the movie, however is where Disgust makes Anger blow his top, literally…)

Anyway, I’m hoping I’ll be alive tomorrow, without the zombie walk and without the protesters trampling me after the verdict. All I really want out of all this is a little bit of hope to grow some happiness in me, if I still have some left.

I have to try.


3 thoughts on “Cowards at Christmas

  1. When I was seven, the local PBS station had a program in the afternoons where Santa Claus read letters from children. The local schools would have their early grade students write letters, they would be mailed to the station, and for half an hour a day, a guy in a Santa Claus costume read the letters. I remember being pretty excited when Santa read mine. (I also remember that the theme music to the program was “Sleigh Bells.”)

    I did an Angel Tree package this year (I wrote about it on my blog), and when I was ready to wrap it up, I wrote out a short letter, as though I were Santa Claus, to the little boy receiving the package. I don’t know anything about him — name, age, family, any of that — so I kept it pretty general. Sometimes the greatest gift you can give someone is the knowledge that there’s someone out there who listened and cares enough to say, “I heard you.”

    The idea of writing a letter as Santa wasn’t mine. One of my favorite Tolkien books is The Father Christmas Letters, a collection of the letters Tolkien wrote, as Father Christmas, to his own children. Surprisingly, I don’t have a copy of it. I really should rectify that.

    Have hope, Rachel. To nick a line from The Two Towers (the movie, as Tolkien doesn’t quite put it this way in the book), “There is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.” 🙂

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