Koosh Ball Christmas

In addition to being a scrawny and socially awkward adolescent, I was a horrible student and failed at almost every attempt scholastically. Whether this involved doing my multiplication tables in under the allotted three minutes, or the successful but horrific (and still unnecessary) task of diagraming of a sentence, I failed. That said, when the holidays arrived, something magically scholastic washed over me. My Christmas list wasn't so much a list but an impeccably organized outline. It went something like this.

Electronics
I. Nintendo
A. Games
1. Mario Brothers (if it doesn't come with the Nintendo)
2. Track and Feild
B. Accessories
1. Gun
2. Extra remote

Sports Outline
I. Baseball
A. Fielding gear
1. Mitt-left handed... (as if my parents didn't know)
2. Baseballs
B. Batting
1. Bat (wood)
2. Bat (metal)
3. Bat (whiffle for the front yard)
C. Attire
1. Yankees
A. hat (non-mesh, fitted)
B. Jersey (with buttons, home NOT away)
II. Football
A. Equipment

... and so forth. The outline would end with the column "Miscellaneous" under which such items as "koosh balls" or "aerobies" would fall. These are things I didn't particularly want but knew Santa liked to give and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.


Though certain that nothing would go overlooked in terms of what I needed for Christmas, I did have a concern that Santa would become aware of my secretly keen sense of outlining which would lead him to question my otherwise apathetic academic effort. This could potentially result in a Christmas morning comprised not of authentic football helmets and video game machines but instead, of a feeble mesh-backed Yankee's cap... or worse, a koosh ball.

In the meantime, my across-the-street neighbors, Drew and Laura had discovered a treasure trove of their own Christmas gifts in their father's closet. It was torture to know that those gifts potentially existed in my own house and with the right amount of determination, perhaps I could find them. Suddenly Christmas became about debunking the entire holiday.

The plan was two-fold. Seek out, then locate gifts intended to be given to me by my parents. Part two was to catch Santa in the act of delivering the other gifts. I was old enough that I deserved to see the fat man with my own two eyes.

One way to out-think Santa was to get into his mind. It had become obvious to me that the concept of a single man and flying reindeer were just not capable of visiting every single house on the planet, but when considering that he had to have lots of help making all of those toys, perhaps there was a cabinet of specially appointed individuals that could "deliver on his behalf."

Over the course of two weeks, we hid underneath an end table carefully drawing schematics. These included maps, graphs, case-scenarios and escape plans. From our rooms we could see one another's chimneys and Drew had a couple of crude spy devices. We narrowed it down to most likely times given our location on the globe in relationship to our bed time as well as our parents bed time. We had flashlight signals, hiding places, and most importantly, determination. We deserved to know just like our parents did, that Santa was real.

One afternoon, while my mom was at the store, just before Christmas, I was searching for my basketball in the garage when I stumbled across a nintendo. I was thrilled but puzzled, because this was something that I had specifically asked Santa for. I called Drew over to look at it. After much consideration, we came to the conclusion that given the ever-unfolding expansion of the population of the planet, Santa had dropped it off early and my mom and dad were just supposed to put out the gift that night before bed. The explanation, though logical, still felt weak. Given the date in December, this Nintendo still belonged in the North Pole.

Things became more complicated when one day after shooting baskets, my mom called me into the kitchen. I rarely got in trouble unless it was for bad grades and my report card wasn't due out of a couple of weeks. It could only be one thing. She proceeded to vaguely allude to the fact that I may have discovered something I shouldn't have. I insisted I didn't know what she was talking about but it was obvious she knew.

I went back over to Parker's and he wanted to continue with the plan, but I was disenchanted. I felt terrible. This whole thing seemed unfair. Santa was a fair and just man and we should respect his privacy, I thought, as though somehow defaulting the plan would somehow lighten the guilt that was beginning to surround me. By abandoning this plan, maybe somehow I could restore my naive belief that such a generous magical individual could exist and my mom would no longer be mad at me.

Christmas Eve rolled around and that night I went to bed. I didn't put on camo pajamas or pull out the binoculars to watch the house across the street, as originally planned. I didn't hold a cup to the wall and listen for reindeer cause I knew now there was no Santa. I also knew my lack of faith and honor would be punished in unspeakable ways. I wasn't gonna get that Nintendo but instead, the cursed and absurd goofy koosh ball.

The next morning, sure enough, there it was. The koosh. Though several other gifts were on display, as was Santa's tradition, that stupid toy was all I could see. Other gifts, like clothes and other atrocities began to appear but nothing else. I looked at my mom in despair. She had bought it... or Santa had. It had been in the garage two weeks ago. I saw it with my own two eyes! Was she just gonna give it to my cousin? Donate it to some poor kids? It had been on my outline! I looked upon my gifts in utter dismay. How could she or he or Santa or whoever do this?

After what seemed like an eternity, my mom asked me what was wrong, confused by my frustration. "Aren't you happy?" Hell no. Of course not. She looked at me, disappointed. "I thought it was what you wanted?" A koosh ball?!?! Had I not feared accruing more bad Santa mojo, I would have said "FUCK NO!" but I held my tongue. I knew why I didn't get it. I didn't deserve to. My grades sucked, I violated sacred trusts and stopped believing. Finally, I mustered, "I thought I was going to get a Nintendo." Upon hearing this feeble confession my mom pointed to my gifts and said it's right there. Suddenly, in the same spot I had been looking moments before, there it was. The Nintendo. My heart dropped. I knew that just a second ago, it wasn't there but miraculously it appeared. It was as if my feeble confession made it magically appear. Shrouded in the miracle of atonement and the spirit of Christmas, my family spent the rest of the morning committed to the magical world of Mario and taking the occasional moment to toss around the koosh ball.