It seems odd to me that, of all people on this earth, I would somehow be the keeper of the key to making Santa Claus cry. What do you think would bring on those ancient tears?
Crying tears of gladness.
Give Santa a Calvin and Hobbes or B.C book. He will be rolling on the floor in tears in no time at all.
Crying tears of empathy
Give Santa an autobiography, written, self-published, autographed by a surviving artist from the Japanese Interment camps.
Crying tears of being touched
Give Santa an art book he has been pricing and drooling over for several years.
Crying tears of surprise
Give Mrs. Santa studio-quality photos of all of their grandchildren. He is, after all, an old softy.
Crying cheers for our team
Choose your sides with care. Times Up is a good game of choice. Santa will be crying when no one guesses he is trying to get his team to guess “Tinkerbell.” by his hand actions.
Crying saying “Hello”
Picking up family at the airport, he is overcome seeing how the children have grown.
Crying saying “Goodbye”
Dropping the family at the airport, Santa is sad to see them go. These tears can be drowned by a coffee order of “Velvet Hammer” at the Airport Coffee People.
Crying over the loss of curls
This is my best qualifier for bringing on Santa’s tears. I didn’t mean to cut off his length of growth. How long did it take him to grow those? And how long did it take me to obliterate them? I’m sorry, Santa. Don't cry.
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Today is our firstborn's 43rd birthday, and yes, I wept while blogging him a Happy Birthday message.
Of course, that wasn't the first time I cried over something we have in common. If I remember correctly, I first cried over "us" about midnight, February 4th, 1964. I'm still happy about that conversation and it's outcome. Thanks still, and thank you too, I guess, for this weepy blog.
Today, however, Thank You for having and raising such a remarkable Son as David Matthew, our Beloved Gift from God.
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