Vampires Suck (pun intended)

I'm not a huge fan of vampires. This is mostly because I think they are overused. I was thinking about them today because I've been trying to listen to Twilight as I drive in the car, trying to figure out why my wife (and just about every other woman or girl I know) is so crazy about these books and movies. To be honest, I still don't get it. I don't mean to knock the author or anything, I just don't get the appeal of the book. Nor do I totally agree with her take on vampires (they sparkle in the sunlight? Really?). I suppose the books are well written, they appeal to their target audience, and the books do make more sense than the movies (at least the first book does so far), but movies spoiling good books is a different topic. I'm talking about vampires. I think I understand why vampires, especially Stephanie Meyers' vampires (sparkly vampires, Stephanie? Really?), appeal to women more than say werewolves. Vampires are rather sensual blood suckers, they are almost always portrayed as being good-looking (except for Nosferatu). Basically vampires are generally seen as really good looking people who give you a mean hicky. This is the vampire that appeals to women; the bad boy seductor. There is another type of vampire, though, the scary one, the ugly throat ripping kind. You see these in the scarier vampire stories, such as Stephen King's classic Salem's Lot. These vampires are evil, they exist to feed. I suppose Stephanie Meyer sought to break away from the mold, show that vampires don't have to be evil. She's not alone in this, other authors have protrayed sympathetic vampires, such as Anne Rice's Louis de Pointe du Lac from Interview with a vampire, or Kate Beckinsale's character Selene in the Underworld movies, but Meyers was able to elevate them to the level of teen heart throbes. So I was thinking,is she right, if vampires existed in a real world would they have to be evil or would they be able to choose to be good or bad? I mean we all have that agency right? But I think vampires would be pretty much evil. Sorry Bella. Think about it, vampires have to exist by drinking the blood of living creatures, be it human or animal. Okay, we kill animals to survive off of too, so I guess you couldn't call a vampire who chooses to subsist off of animals evil, but most would not do that. For some reason human blood goes down better than animal blood. I think if vampires existed in a real world they would see humans as less than they are, as prey, but they would also resent us because we can move around in the light and they cannot (sorry Stephanie, I prefer the version of vampires who burn up in the sun to those who sparkle). They can only hunt at night, so that would give people somewhat of an adavantage, as long as they had a way of protecting themselves at night. They would be similar to the creatures in the Will Smith movie I am Legend. But I don't totally like that version either, the cross between vampire and zombie (another monster that is overused). I prefer a vampire who is seductively beautiful, at least on the outside, but is a monster lurking just beneath the surface. Vampires choose to be vampires, after all. Okay, sure they do not usually choose to become vampires, they are turned by other vampires, but they choose to remain vampires, they could die if they wanted to (yes, even the undead have ways of ending their existence). All they'd have to do is sit outside and watch the sunrise. Most would be evil though. I'm not really trying to prove a point with this, Twilight just got me thinking about the subject is all. If a book makes you think it must be doing something right, though, right? So I guess the books aren't a total loss. I still don't understand why women like them so much, though. And I am still not a fan of vampires.

Movie Review: Faces in the Crowd

I watch a lot of movies, so I have decided to start writing movie reviews. I just finished watching Faces in the Crowd on Netflix. First of all you should know that the movie is rated R, although it probably could have been PG-13, mostly for language and some violence, although there is one sex scene but you don't see any actual naked bits, just her stomach and his chest. Anyway, I only gave the movie 2 out of 5 stars, mostly because I knew who the killer was as soon as I saw him. The director, Julien Magnat, tried to throw in a couple of twists to throw you off track, but eventhose were pretty transparent. The movie is about a woman named Anna Merchant (played by Milla Jovovich) who witneses a murder by a serial killer and then hits her head and develops Prosopagnosia (that's a neat word) or "Face Blindness." Basically she cannot remember a person's face from one moment to the next. If you leave her sight for a moment or so when she sees you again you look like someone else. This was my favorite part of the movie because it was clever the way the director had to switch actors to show the condition. I still can't remember what her boyfriend looked like originally. The acting in the movie is not bad, Milla Jovovich does a good job of looking freaked out and distressed, and I did not even recognize Julian McMahon as the detective trying to find the serial killer. Of course this might have been because he was wearing a goatee and the only other thing I know him from is as Doctor Doom from the Fantastic Four movies, but I never thought of him as Doom ina different movie, so that is a good thing. There were no great dramatic moments in the movie though, nothing to make it stand out as anything more than mediocre, so unless you are bored and have already seen every other serial killer movie, you can skip this one. If you are loking for a good serial killer movie check out Se7en with Brad Pitt, or the classic Silence of the Lambs with Anthony Hopkins, or Zodiak with Robert Downey Jr. and Jake Gyllenhaal, or one of my favorites, January Man with Kevin Kline. All of those are R rated as well, so if you don't watch R rated movies don't rent any of these, watch them edited on TV. So, that's my first movie review. I'll write more later.

Battle of the bike

A little explanation about this story. I wrote it many years ago and kind of like it. This story is actually what you might call semi-autobiographical. The protagonists in the story are based on real friends I had growing up, and the fight happened almost exactly as it is described in the story, although the actual fight was for less altruistic reasons.

I just wrote an alternate ending to the story which I am including with the story itself. I've thought for awhile about how the story would be different had the fight ended differently, if the narrator had not overcome his fears to come to his friend's aid. The theme of the story changes quite a bit with this new ending, becoming more about the end of child as a loss of innocence. Please read both endings to the story and tell me which you prefer.

As always I welcome criticism, both positive and negative. I am interested in knowing what you think, if you have any suggestions for improving the story, and would love to hear your opinions.

"You be careful today!" Mom admonished as I bolted for the door.
"We're always careful," I called without looking back. I was anxious to be gone and wanted no more delays.
"Make sure you lock your bike if you leave it anywhere." There was really no need to remind me of that. My bike was not something I treated carelessly. It was a slick Schwin dirt bike, dark red with black Mag wheels. It was light and swift, and boy did we look good together. Now sure, I jumped it off of curbs, the occasional homemade ramp, off ditches and dirt mounds, and even rode it down stairs, but I knew the limits and did not exceed them. I wasn't about to let something happen to my bike. "Don't be out late, and stay away from those construction sites!" I pretended not to hear that last part; she probably hadn't meant it anyway. I yelled good-bye one last time, and was out the door and on my bike, thudding down the porch stairs before she could call out any more last minute instructions.

I rode through the streets of Salinas at a fast but comfortable pace with my four best friends. To us, Salinas was much more than a small city off the coast of central California. On any given day it could be our home, the planet Felos (inhabited by cat people), the old west, Vietnam (which we knew nothing of except a war had been fought there not too long ago), or whatever other world or country our imaginations could create. The one thing that was consistent, was whatever Salinas was at any time, it was always a place where we were together, we were the best there was, and we were beloved by all of its imaginary inhabitants, feared by all of its imaginary enemies. There we were all we dreamed of being; brave, strong, daring, dashing, and most of all heroes.
It was Friday afternoon, and we had the weekend all to ourselves. We were all going to spend the night at my house, and have the weekend to do with as we desired. We were five in all; me, my cousin Louis, Ethan, David, and Bryan, more commonly known as Rag Doll, Rags for short. This was against his will of course, although it was his fault we gave him the name in the first place. He always used to complain about how old his clothes were, all full of holes and “raggy;” like a rag doll. Thus he became Rag Doll; the name just seemed to fit. Rags was a pessimist, plain and simple. He thought the whole world was against him, even his friends, and we were the only ones who could put up with him. Think of a tall, lanky Eeyore with shaggy blond hair and you've got Rag Doll. About the only thing that seemed to make him happy was being with us and riding his bike. Rags’ bike was a typical ten-speed, tall and silver. It was actually a decent bike, but not to us. The only true bike was a dirt bike. But it got him where he needed to go, which was mostly away from his family, and he loved it. If it was possible, he took better care of his bike than the rest of us did, and that’s saying something.
We rode around for a while, not really caring where we went. We just rode, enjoying the freedom our bikes brought us, riding through the streets, with no parents looking over our shoulders telling us not to ride so fast, or jump off the curbs, or to come in because it was getting late. Louis and David road dirt bikes like I did. David road the same model Schwin as mine only the colors were the opposite, black on red instead of red on black. Louis’ was slightly smaller than ours and all black and chrome. Ethan rode another ten-speed. Unlike Rag Doll, Ethan’s choice in bikes was not voluntary. He hated his bike. It was a wreck, mostly because it was old and he was riding it to death. But he was good at keeping it in working condition. David and Ethan would trade bikes every so often. This was more Ethan's idea, of course, but David would do just about anything Ethan asked. Even when he was on the ten-speed though, Ethan would go wherever the dirt bikes did, jumping off curbs, riding on whatever dirt trails we could find. It's a wonder his bike lasted as long as it did. Rags, of course, rode his bike either on the sidewalk or the street, and never so much as jumped off the curb.
We eventually ended up at a construction site where they were building a new underpass. The official construction of the bridge had not started yet, so the ground was all torn up, an enormous crater full of rocks and dirt. A more perfect playground could not have existed. Since no work was going on, and no one was around, we decided to take advantage of the situation and play there for a while.
We rode our bikes down into the crater, except for Rags who, fearing he would pop a tire left his at the top. We tossed rocks at random targets for a while, until David suddenly yelled, "Enemy invaders! Arm yourselves with grenades and lasers!" Rocks served as perfect grenades; the lasers were formed out of fingers and air. For the next hour, we battled imaginary invaders. We were no longer five boys in an enormous ditch, but five brave Galactic Rangers, desperately defending our outpost from alien invaders. Things were always desperate for us, our situation hopeless, but we somehow always managed to pull off a victory, heroically saving that day. Always that is, until the moment our imaginary world was shattered by a rock.
We had totally lost track of time and reality, when we were suddenly brought back to the real world by a rock hitting the concrete right by David's head. Startled, we looked in the direction from which the rock had come. There stood a lone figure. He looked like your typical neighborhood bully. He was about my height, but very stocky and ugly, and none too bright. In all, he made for quite the imposing figure.
"What are you little fags doing, playing guns?" He called, picking up another rock and tossing it at us. It landed at Ethan's feet, forcing him back a few steps. None of us replied, instead moving cautiously to our bikes, preparing for a hasty retreat.
The punk kid walked around the rim of the ditch, tossing rocks at us and taunting us, until he came to a stop at Rags' bike. The rest of us had reached our bikes, and were pushing them out of the ditch on the opposite side.
"Nice bike," the kid called. "Think I'll keep it!"
"No!" Rag Doll cried.
"You want to come take it from me?" He taunted. Rags wouldn't stand a chance and he knew it, so he made no move towards the other kid. He looked to each of us for help, but we just stood there. We froze. He was a big kid, he had the advantage of size and elevation, and he threw those rocks pretty hard. None of us moved to help.
"Didn't think so, see ya, faggot," He called as he mounted Rag Doll's bike and rode off, while we prepared to make a hasty retreat of our own. It was time to seek out a safer domain. Rag Doll stood there watching the bully make off with his bike, tears welling up in his eyes. "My bike." he whispered softly.
After the loss of Rag Doll’s bike, we made our way dejectedly to Louis' backyard. I was feeling bad for Rags who, having finished crying, sat in misery, his head in his hands, trails of dried tears streaking his face. I was feeling pretty bad myself. None of us had made a move to help him; none of us had been brave enough to try and get past the kid's throwing arm to get at the bike. It wasn't his aim that we'd been necessarily afraid of, but the force with which he hurled the rocks.
Whatever the reason, I felt bad now. I was filled with guilt for having stood there with everyone else, and allowing Rag Doll's bike to be stolen. We all felt bad for Rags and we felt guilty for not trying to help. Ethan, Rag Doll and I sat on the back porch, trying to console Rag Doll, while David leaned against the huge plum tree near the middle of the yard, trying not to look at Rags, and Louis was climbing in the tree looking for plums. For the most part the plums were still green; a few perhaps turning yellow, but we usually had them all eaten before they ripened anyway. We liked them sour, I guess.
"Well he shouldn't have left the bike on top. He was asking to have it stolen," Luis argued, trying to free himself of blame.
"I didn't want to get a flat," Rag Doll whined. The whining made it a little harder to feel bad for him. It was so annoying.
"None of our bikes got flats," Luis returned.
"Your bikes are made for stuff like that; mine isn't," he whined.
"Wasn't," David mumbled. Ethan and I shot him a deadly look and he turned away.
"Ethan's bike is a ten speed just like yours, and he brought his down," Louis continued arguing his point.
"Yeah, well Ethan doesn't care about his bike like I do. He doesn't care what happens to his." That was true; Ethan didn't care because his bike was junk, anyway. Whenever something happened to it, we just fixed it with parts from other old bikes he had lying around.
"Well you obviously didn't care enough, or it wouldn't have gotten stolen," David pointed out.
"Shut up!" Rags yelled, coming to his feet, his hands balled into fists.
I quickly got in between them before a fight started. We were friends, so of course that meant there was at least one fight a day. I was usually the one to break them up. Blessed are the peacemakers and all that. "Knock it off you two!" I told them. "It won't do any good for us to start fighting."
"I don’t see what the big deal is,” Louis said. “The bike sucked anyhow."
"Yeah, but it was my bike!" Rags cried passionately. Actually I don't think I'd ever seen him so passionate about anything. "The bike was mine. I bought it with my own money. You don't even get it, do you? Your aunt bought your bike; you didn’t have to work for it. I did. It was mine, and now it’s gone." He put his head down in his hands again, shaking his head miserably.
"Don't worry Rag Doll," Ethan said, putting his arm around Rags' shoulder. "We'll get your bike back."
"How?" Rags asked, a glimmer of hope coming to his eyes.
"I don't know, but we'll think of something. We know that guy lives around here somewhere. We'll find him and make him give it back."
"Really?" Rag Doll asked. There was actually a look of surprise in his eyes. "You guys would do that for me?"
"Of course," I said, although I had no idea how we were going to do this. "You're our friend; you're one of us, and we look out for each other."
"Yeah," David said, coming over. "All for one and one for all, right?"
"Right," Louis said, dropping out of the tree. "We'll find that punk and kick his butt and take your bike back."
"Don't worry, Rags," Ethan said. "We'll get your bike free again."

We got up early the next morning and after watching cartoons for a while, decided to go play some baseball at the elementary school. We rode our bikes, with Rag Doll running beside us, carrying the bat and ball. I stood at second, Rags was out in left field, David at pitcher, Louis at home and Ethan at bat, when as fate would have it, the bully showed up on Rag Doll's bike. This time he was not alone, he had three friends with him. Great, I thought, just great, as fear knotted my stomach. I’m pretty sure each of felt the same terror I felt, but this time we made no move to run away; we each held our place. My feet were screaming, “Run! Run!” But my heart ordered them to stay put. There would be no retreat from this battlefield. We said nothing, but we knew we would not abandon one another this time.
"Hey! It's the little dorks from yesterday. Thanks for the bike, dorks," he said, as he and his friends came up to us.
I have to admit, I was really scared. These kids weren't really any bigger than us, but they struck me as the types that liked to fight. I liked to fight too, but beating up imaginary foes was one thing. These guys were real; when they hit back, I was going to feel it. Still, I held my ground, wondering if the others were as scared as I was. I could tell that Rags was. You could see the fear in his face as he made his way to stand next to David at the pitcher's mound.
We all made our way to the pitcher's mound, and stood there together staring down, or trying to stare down, our fierce looking antagonists.
"What are you all staring at?" The bully asked, trying to sound tough. To tell the truth, I found him very convincing, although Ethan didn't seem afraid, or about to back down. Louis and David did not seem afraid either, although David was standing conveniently towards the back of our little group, safely behind Louis and Ethan. Right next to me, actually.
"We want our bike back," Ethan demanded, brandishing the bat he still gripped. Louis, standing next to him, gripped the ball as if he planned to use it as a weapon. I looked down at the mitt I wore on my right hand. I decided I was not going to get much use out of it as a weapon. Maybe I could smother one of these guys with it.
"What?" The boy asked menacingly, dropping the bike and coming to stand in front of Ethan, his friends moving to stand behind him. "Did you say something to me?" He stood at least four or five inches taller than Ethan.
"I told you, we want my friend's bike back." I was amazed; Ethan’s voice didn’t quiver at all as he spoke, and his face remained grim and determined. My feet still wanted to run, and to be honest my head mostly agreed, but my heart was not about to allow that.
"Are you going to take it from me?" He asked as one of his friends handed him an old golf club he'd been carrying. They didn’t have any golf balls with them so what they'd originally intended to use it for was beyond me, maybe club lizards or something. Not that there were any lizards to club on the school playground, but they probably hadn't figured that out yet.
"If we have to," David said from behind Ethan's shoulder. Shut up David, I thought.
The bully made a half swing with the club at Ethan who dodged back out of the way and hit the other boy in the leg with the bat. The boy stumbled, a look of shock on his face that must have mirrored the astonishment on my own. I realized then that he hadn't really expected this to come to blows. He'd probably figure we planned to run away again, as we had the previous day. He had just found out he was wrong, the hard way.
"You little jerks are dead!" he cried. He and Ethan squared off while two of his friends ran at us. Louis and, much to my surprise David, met them, and the battle was joined in full.
The last bully just stood there, alternating his nervous stare between watching the fights and watching Rags and I. I guess he wasn't overly anxious to take on the two of us at once. Or maybe he even shared our mutual fear of the pain associated with physical altercations; which was fine by us, because neither of us was overly anxious to fight him either. He was a short, fat little kid, about Ethan's height but way heavier. The thought of having all that fat on top of me was not very appealing.
So the three of us stood there watching the fight, which to be honest was going pretty good for our side. Louis had his opponent pinned to the ground, and was reigning blow after blow down upon his wailing foe, who was struggling frantically to protect his face. David and his opponent just stood there, pushing each other. If one fell down, the other waited till he got up so he could knock him down again, sort of king of the pitcher's mound. Of course, more often than not it was David that went down, but he would get right back up and run at his foe for another try.
The real tense battle was between Ethan and the bike thief. They circled each other, making an occasional swing with bat or club. Their swings were low, mostly aimed at the legs. I don't think either really wanted to bash the other person's head in, they just acted like they did. Even still, they were fighting with actual weapons, weapons capable of doing real harm if either of the two young combatants decided to make a serious effort to hurt the other. My stomach and my heart fought their own battle, each trying to switch places with the other, or be the first to leap out of my throat.
Ethan and the other boy circled like this for a while, until the bully suddenly lunged at Ethan, grabbing his arm and twisting, forcing him to drop the bat. Ethan grabbed the hand with the club and the two twirled around in circles, trying to throw the other off balance. Ethan seemed to be the stronger of the two. That, plus the fact that he was a wrestler, gave him the advantage, and he had soon wrestled the punk to the ground.
Seeing his friend was in trouble, the short fat kid decided to take action. He figured Rags and I wouldn't do anything, and Ethan was in no position to hurt him, so he moved to pick up the discarded bat. Realizing what he was going to do, I was suddenly overcome by anger. He was going to hit Ethan on the back of his head, while I stood by and did nothing! The realization that my friend was about to be hit from behind, jolted me into action. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside my head. All fear left me, replaced by anxiety for my friend, and without thinking I was moved to action. Adrenaline filled me, as I ran at the fat boy as fast as I could and threw myself at him. I felt like Superman flying through the air. I felt a rush of energy as I jumped at the bat-wielding boy, the air rushing past me. I collided with him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I sailed past, tackling him to the ground. The bat rolled free, and the boy's desperate attention was turned towards me, which had not been part of my hastily conceived battle plan.
He used his weight to his advantage, and quickly gained the advantage over me, wrapping his beefy arms around my neck, and attempting to choke the life out of me, with moderate success. I gasped for air, trying to reach the bat and knock the fat little kid off of me, but it was out of reach. Rag Doll stood watching in shock as the kid choked me. Suddenly, the expression on his face turned from one of fear to one of fierce determination and decision.
He walked over quickly, and picked up the bat. Brandishing it in both hands, he stood over the fat little bully, and waving the bat menacingly in the air said, "You let go of my friend, or I'll bash your head in with this bat!" He was very convincing, and the boy immediately let go. I sat there looking at Rags in shock and gasping for air. I hadn't known he had it in him! For that matter, I hadn’t realized I had it in me either.
The whole battle ended soon after that. Together Rag Doll and I moved to help our other friends. When their adversaries saw they were outnumbered, they turned first one and then the other and fled, until only the bully who had stolen Rags’ bike was left.
Somehow, the bully had gotten the advantage over Ethan, and now sat on top of him. He had raised the club over his head and was about to bring it down on top of Ethan's when we arrived. Louis caught the club and yanked it out of the now outnumbered boy's hands. He looked up in shock just, in time for the rest of us to bowl him over as one. We knocked him to the ground, and then stood over him.
The boy lay on his back, with four angry young boys standing over him, one holding a bat, another a club, and all with determined expressions. It was Rag Doll who spoke up.
"Now you get your ugly face out of here, before we pound your head into the ground, queer. And leave my bike!" We let the boy get up, and he ran off without a word to join his friends. After he was gone we looked at each other, scarcely believing what we had done. Then the warm feeling of victory spread through our bodies, and we grinned. With yells of triumph, we high-fived each other and jumped around, basking in our victory.
"You guys are my best friends," Rags said suddenly, emotion filling his voice. "You're the best friends I've ever had." We looked at each other, and silently nodded in agreement. We were the best friends he'd ever had, no doubt about that.
We spent the rest of the afternoon riding our bikes around town, enjoying our freedom and basking in our victory over the bullies. Our spirits soared, as the wind rushed past our faces as we sped at top speeds down hills and through empty fields. Whenever we stopped at a park or school to rest, we spent the time recounting our efforts in winning back Rag Doll's bike. We not only had regained a bike, but a feeling of our own self-worth. We had faced our fears together, as friends, and redeemed ourselves, winning not only our friend's source of freedom, but also the self-knowledge that together we could accomplish anything. For once, we really were the heroes we were constantly pretending to be.
After that day we began to visit our imaginary worlds less and less together, although I continued to visit them alone for some time. There was just no need for us to pretend at being heroes anymore. We had proven ourselves heroic in the real world; we had fought a battle together and won. There was no more need to fight imaginary wars. In one sense, it was sad to see that part of our childhood end, and yet, although we stopped journeying to imaginary worlds, we did not stop being friends, or exploring life together, we just began to explore a different world; the real one.
They say that along with adolescence come feelings of invulnerability, children think themselves invincible, impervious to harm. That is surely how we felt that day. But we had earned the right to feel invincible. We had stood our ground and won the day. There wasn't anything we couldn't do together, anything that could overcome our feelings of freedom and invulnerability. We had become the heroes of our imaginary worlds. If it was us against the world, well then the world didn't stand a chance.


Alternate ending

The real tense battle was between Ethan and the bike thief. They circled each other, making an occasional swing with bat or club. Their swings were low, mostly aimed at the legs. I don't think either really wanted to bash the other person's head in, they just acted like they did. It was one thing to act tough, but quite another to actually inflict that level of violence. Even still, they were fighting with actual weapons, weapons capable of doing real harm if either of the two young combatants decided to make a serious effort to hurt the other. My stomach and my heart fought their own battle, each trying to switch places with the other, or be the first to leap out of my throat.
Ethan and the other boy circled like this for a while, until the bully suddenly lunged at Ethan, grabbing his arm and twisting, forcing him to drop the bat. Ethan grabbed the hand with the club and the two twirled around in circles, trying to throw the other off balance. Ethan seemed to be the stronger of the two. That, plus the fact that he was a wrestler, gave him the advantage, and he had soon wrestled the punk to the ground.
Seeing his friend was in trouble, the short fat kid decided to take action. He figured Rags and I wouldn't do anything, and Ethan was in no position to hurt him, so he moved to pick up the discarded bat. Even realizing what he was going to do, I was suddenly overcome by fear. He was going to hit Ethan on the back of his head, while I stood by and did nothing! The realization that my friend was about to be hit from behind almost jolted me into action, but my own fears and apprehension froze me in place. I wanted to help my friend, but fear kept my feet rooted to the ground. I stood there terrified and did nothing. I looked at Rags and he looked at me and we both looked at each other imploring the other to do something. But neither of us did.
Luckily the fat kid was also too afraid to do anything with the bat. Apparently the enormity of the swing hung heavy on him as well, and he did nothing but stand over the two combatants holding the bat.
Finally the bike thief’s size won out. He held Ethan down for awhile; pushing his face into the dirt, then finally grew tired of the fight. He stood up and looked over Ethan for awhile, then back at us. Rags and I flinched and I involuntarily took a step back. “You two want some?” the kid asked. We said nothing.
“Yeah, I thought not,” he said smugly.
It all ended then. He threw Louis off of the kid he was fighting and told the other kid to let David go. “What a bunch of pansies,” he said to us in disgust. He took the bat from the fat kid and took a couple of swings at the air with it. “Thanks for the new bat.” And with that they left. We never saw them, the bat, or Ragdoll’s bike again.
When Ragdoll asked what we were going to do about his bike, Ethan and Louis told him to shut up, and nothing more was said about it. That was one of the worst days of my life. We never played baseball again and after that day we never again visited any of our imaginary worlds or imagined that we were heroes fighting imaginary wars. That summer came to an end, we started back to school and hung out less and less, slowly drifting apart. Even I stopped visiting those imaginary worlds; it had become too hard to pretend to be an imaginary hero knowing I had failed to be one when the opportunity had presented itself. It is difficult to pretend to be something you know you are not. I learned that lesson the hard way.

The Winter Toy Maker

Following is a Christmas story I wrote. It's never been published before, so I guess this counts as the first time. This is coprighted material. Please do not copy or redistribute without my permission. Let me know what you think.

The Winter Toy Maker

This story begins, as all such stories should. Once upon a time there was a humble young carpenter and his wife who lived in a wintry country in Northern Europe, in a small village named Spielzeugdorf. Their names were Nicolas and Maria Claus. Nicolas and Maria loved children but had never been blessed with children of their own, and so they treated all children as if they were theirs. Nicolas had a particular talent for working with wood. Every creation of his, be it a desk, chair or simple table was a work of art; but no work was so fine as the toys he made for the children. And Nicolas never charged a single coin for the toys he so lovingly crafted. A child stopping by for a visit or accompanying a parent would never leave empty-handed. There was always a toy perfect for that child, and fresh baked cookies from Maria’s kitchen. After years of this tradition Nicolas and Maria became renowned for their loving kindness and generosity to children.
Now it so happened that one particularly cold and bitter winter eve, Nicolas and Maria received a visit from a man of a neighboring town who had ridden through bitter cold and heavy falling snow to reach them.
“My friend you are frozen to the bone!” Nicolas exclaimed as the man pulled up in a small sleigh driven by an exhausted workhorse, steaming from pulling the sleigh. “You come right inside and let Maria tend you while I see to your horse.”
“You are very kind,” the man said through frozen lips. “I’ve come with a request for your talents.”
“My talents, in this weather?” Nicolas asked bewildered. “What could be important enough to bring you out in this weather? Is your home missing a door? No matter, you can tell me all about what piece of furniture would be so important as to send a man out to his death in this weather after we’ve restored some warmth to your bones. Inside with you now.” As he led the man inside he called out to his wife, “Maria! An icicle has come for a visit. See if you can’t thaw it out and see if there is a man hidden inside won’t you, dear?”
“Of course!” Maria said as she saw the poor man. “Come inside and sit by the fire; I’ll get you something warm to drink.”
After cooling and rubbing down the man’s horse and stabling her in the barn with a warm blanket, Nicolas went inside to see what had brought the man to see him.
“It’s our children, you see,” the man, who had introduced himself as Jan the woodsman from a neighboring village of Freudendorf, explained as he sipped from his third cup of warm cider, Maria’s own special recipe. “This winter, though just begun, has hit with such a fury. The children of our village are all locked inside without anything with which to play. We have no toy makers in our village to make toys for them to play with. We have heard of your wondrous toys, of course, and a few parents got together and decided to implore you to sell us some toys that I may bring back for the children. We know the joy of a Claus toy would surely help see them through this dismal season. So please, sir, if you could see to sell us some of your toys . . .”
Nicolas looked at the man with concern in his eyes. Truly the love of these parents for their children touched him deeply. He knew the love of the parents in this small village equaled if not surpassed his and Maria’s own love for children.
“I am sorry, but I cannot take your money, my good man,” Nicolas explained solemnly. “My toys, you see, are not for sale.”
“But I have the money here, and I’ve come through such weather, if you could just let me purchase a few toys to take with me,” the man begged not understanding what Nicolas meant. “The children, sir—“
“Of course, the children,” Nicolas agreed. “But, sir, I have never sold a toy in my life, and could not begin to do so now. My toys are meant as a gift for children; I could never place a price on them. What is a gift if you place a price upon it? Your children shall have toys, my new friend, and I shall deliver them myself. I could not call myself a good man, and certainly not a follower of the Christ, if I were to do any less. You’ll need to give me a few days to get things ready, and then I shall accompany you back to your village with a toy for every child.”
“Sir, you are too kind,” the man said his voice full of emotion.
“We shall accompany you, on this journey,” Maria corrected her husband.
“Maria, no dear, you should not be out in such weather as this,” Nicolas argued.
“And neither should you, Nicolas,” Maria argued back. “If you are willing to risk so much for these children, than so am I. But no husband of mine is going out into this weather without his wife by his side.”
“Well, my friend,” Nicolas said with a chuckle, “there is no arguing with my wife when her mind is set. The three of us shall leave as soon as I can prepare a sled large enough to carry all the toys and something strong enough to pull it.”
Though he spoke with great optimism, Nicolas was worried about how he would accomplish the task of preparing toys and finding a way to deliver them to the village. Unsure of a proper solution, Nicolas turned, as was his habit, to prayer in search of a solution. “Lord,” he prayed that night as he and Maria knelt by their bed, their new friend, Jan, bedded down in the comfortable stable with his horse. “We dearly desire to help the children of Freudedorf, but the task seems beyond our strengths to accomplish. Won’t Thou help us, Lord, that we might accomplish this thing? In Thy son’s name, amen.”
The Lord’s help came in the form of strength of limb to give Nicolas the strength to tirelessly finish a toy for every child in Jan’s village. The question of how to deliver the toys was answered by Sebastion, Nicolas’ woodcutter partner, who presented the Clauses with a large old wood sled to carry all the toys.
“But we still don’t know how to pull the sled,” Nicolas explained in another prayer. “Sebastion has already sacrificed a sled, we cannot ask him to place his own horses at risk. Jan’s horse is not strong enough to pull the sled alone, our old Tess no longer has the strength to pull, and no one in the village can risk their horses on such a dangerous trip as this. I have asked for so much Lord, and Thou hast always been so giving. Cans’t Thou please help us again and send us help to pull our sleigh?” Nicolas finished his prayer and climbed into bed next to Maria.
“The Good Lord has never let us down, Nicolas,” Maria assured her husband as she snuggled in close to him. “You have always been faithful, and never let Him down. You will see; His help will come.”
The help did indeed arrive the very next morning. As Nicolas went to see to their guest he found a small herd of reindeer gathered about the Claus home. Although not uncommon in that part of the world, reindeer were not known for coming into villages. Even odder these reindeer were gathering right around the sled as if waiting for something. Jan was astounded, as several of the strongest caribou calmly allowed themselves to be hitched to the sled. “Ask the Lord for a miracle, my friend, and he sends you one!” Nicolas laughed as he threw one arm around Jan’s shoulder and waved at the harnessed deer with the other. “Rarely is it quite what you expect though. I was thinking horses; He thought reindeer. Well, the Lord knows what’s best.”
The reindeer quickly proved God right. The caribou, accustomed to the wild winters of that land, had no problem pulling the sleigh through the snow. The large husky animals showed great strength, as together they pulled the laden sled with little effort, working together as if they had been pulling sleds all their lives.
“Here, Nicolas, I’ve made us coats to wear while you’ve been busy with the toys,” Maria explained as she draped a large red fur coat over Nicolas’ shoulders on the day they had chosen to leave.
“Very warm, my dear,” Nicolas said with a smile, as he tried to move his arms in the enormous coat. “But why red?”
“And why not?” Maria playfully argued. “I love red, and it is so much warmer and prettier than brown, and easier to see in the snow so we don’t lose you. Now be quiet and get in the sleigh.”
“As I said,” Nicolas grinned to Jan who rode next to them in his small sleigh, also laden with toys and pulled by reindeer, his horse tied to the back, “there is no arguing with this woman when her mind is set.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Jan agreed with a laugh.
The trio started early that morning and traveled all day, through a heavy snow that had begun to fall soon after their departure, offsetting the dismal weather with pleasant conversation. Jan told them of his family, of his wife, daughter and newborn son, while Nicolas told stories of his youth and courtship of Maria. As night fell Jan assured them they were drawing near his town, but the snowfall had picked up once more and it soon became difficult to see anything beyond a few yards.
“How will we ever find our way in this weather, Nicolas?” Maria asked. “Perhaps it was a mistake to risk this journey after all.”
“Maria, the Lord has seen fit to meet all our needs so far,” Nicolas comforted his wife. “We shall have to trust Him in this as well.”
Their faith proved to be well placed for mere moments later they saw a curious thing. Lights sparkled in the night where no town seemed present. It was as if the stars themselves had descended from the heavens to light their way. As they drew nearer they discovered the lights were not heavenly stars but earthly candles that had been hung from the bows of trees and left to burn, lighting a path for the trio to follow, leading into the village itself.
“This is Master and Mistress Claus,” Jan eagerly introduced the couple to the people of his home.
“We knew you would come,” one of the villagers explained. “But we were afraid you might get lost in the weather. So for days now we have kept candles burning in the trees to light the way.”
“A truly inspired act,” Nicolas agreed. “Now where are the children? I would waste no time in being about my duties!” And so Nicolas and Maria began the joyful task of handing out presents to each and every child in the village. They spent a few moments in each home, handing a toy to each grateful child; the only charge a warm smile, kind word, and the occasional peck on the cheek. Maria watched as her dear portly husband laughed heartily with the children, unable to recall a time when he had seemed so happy in all his life.
“Will you come again next week?” Greta, the daughter of Jan asked Master Claus as he and his wife prepared to leave a few days later when conditions were fit for travel once more. The little girl hugged a beautifully carved doll with locks of golden hair made from curled wood shavings, lovingly to her breast.
“Oh, my Dear if only we could,” Nicolas said as he gave the girl a hug. “But I could never make enough toys in a week to bring back. It would take a year to make enough toys for everyone!”
“Then come again next year!” The little girl with golden locks of her own cried with delight. “Oh please, Master Claus, promise you’ll come again next year. Please?”
“How could I ever say no, to such a face as this?” Nicolas laughed as he cupped the little girl’s chin in his large hand. “You have my word as a Christian, the Lord willing, I will return again next year with toys for everyone. But you must promise to light the way with candles in the trees once more, so that I don’t pass the village by in the night.”
“We will, Master Claus, we will,” Greta promised, throwing her tiny arms around Nicolas’ ample middle in delight.

And so the tradition began. Every year, on the week of the Winter Solstice, and at the time the Christ Mass came to be held, celebrating the birth of the Savior, Nicolas and Maria would load up their sleigh with toys, gather up their caribou friends and set off to deliver toys to the children. They would go first to those in their own town and then to the home of Jan and his daughter Greta. As the years passed the Clauses began to visit other villages as well, until almost the entire month of December was spent delivering toys to the eagerly anticipating children. It was a long and laborious effort, but the couple never grew tired of it.
After years of these Christmas deliveries letters began to arrive from the children. Within days Nicolas began to receive letters of gratitude, thanking him for a doll or toy cart, begging him to return again soon with another doll—as a friend to the first—or a horse to pull the cart. The requests were accompanied by promises to behave and act in a truly Christian manner until he returned again. Nicolas cherished these letters, as did Maria, who would sit and read them to her husband while he labored in his shop.
“Why do you insist on travelling at such an awful time of year to deliver your toys?” Sebastian the woodcutter asked one day as he helped Nicolas fill the sleigh with a load of toys.
“It is in the bleak hours of winter that the hearts of the children need the most cheering,” Nicolas explained. “There is so little cheer in the winter, and little of anything else as well, including food. I cannot feed every child, but I can give him or her a gift, to warm the heart if not the hands. Besides, it seems an appropriate time of year for giving gifts. It is the time we Christians have begun celebrating the birth of the Christ child, the Savior of all mankind. He gave such a wonderful gift to us all Sebastian, and I would like to do the same. It is said that when the Savior was born wise men from the East came and gave him gifts of gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh. Great gifts for God’s own gift, his son, the greatest gift ever given in the history of the world. I think of Him, and worship Him each and every time I place a toy in a child's hands. In a way it is as if I place a gift in the Christ child’s hand when I give toys to all the children.”
“You are a good man, Nicolas, and I am sure your God accepts your gifts,” the woodcutter said as he squeezed his old friend’s shoulder fondly.
“He is your God too, Sebastian, not just mine.”
“But I am not a Christian like you.”
“That does not matter, my friend,” Nicolas laughed. “You may not believe in God, but that does not stop Him from believing in you!”
“You are a marvel, my friend,” Sebastian laughed in return. “You truly seem worthy of the name people have begun to call you.”
“What name is that?” Maria asked as she came to join her husband and neighbor.
“Why they call our Nicolas a Saint of course,” Sebastian said, clapping Nicolas on the shoulder. “Every child throughout the land waits each year in hopes that Sinterklaas will bring him a wooden horse or her a wooden doll.”
“Santa Claus is it?” Maria said with a smile. She and Sebastian both laughed when Nicolas’ cheeks turned a rosy red with embarrassment. “Well, Santa, you had better get busy so we can be on our way, or you’ll lose your reputation as the greatest giver of gifts Christmas has ever seen!”
So the years passed. Years became decades and Greta and the other children grew into adults and had children of their own whom, like their parents before them, grew up in yearly anticipation, awaiting the arrival of Saint Nicolas and his wonderful gifts. Decades passed and Nicolas’ fame grew—as did his waist thanks to Maria’s cooking—as his hair slowly turned from black to gray and then to snowy white. Maria, who never failed to join her husband on his yearly excursions, often commented that when it snowed she could not distinguish the white of her husband’s beard from that of the fresh fallen snow; his face was just one large snowball. If it weren’t for the red winter coats he had grown accustomed to wearing, she was sure she would lose him in the snow even if he were sitting right next to her.
More years passed and age finally began to catch up with Nicolas and Maria. Nicolas refused to let it slow him down of course; he had too much work to do to be slowed down by age. And so it caught up with Maria first.
It was some months before Christmas when Maria fell ill. There was no cure for her illness; her body was simply slowing down. Nicolas did not mind the added burden of caring for his wife; it was truly no burden to him at all. Though he was not so fair a cook as she was, he kept them fed and warm, and when he was not in his shop or doing the daily household chores, he would sit at the bedside and talk or read to the now pale and frail Maria.
One day Nicolas had just finished a new figurine and was bringing it in to show Maria when he saw her sitting up in bed with tears in her eyes. Nicolas tossed the figurine down on the bed and hurried to his wife’s side, taking her hand in his and gently kissing it. “Maria, are you in pain?” He asked, his voice brimming with concern. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine, Nicolas, I’m fine,” Maria said as she brought her husband’s hand up to her lips and kissed it softly. “I was just lost in silly thoughts is all.” She looked down at the tiny figure on her lap and picked it up. The figurine was in the form of a slender woman in the prime of her life, with long flowing hair and a loving smile. As was always the case with one of Nicolas’ creations, careful attention had been given to the smallest of details. Her hair was stained auburn and her green eyes were so vibrant Maria almost felt as if she looked into the eyes of a tiny living elf. “What a beautiful doll, Nicolas. I swear she is the most beautiful you have ever carved. Your work only improves with age.”
“I was inspired with this one,” Nicolas said as he ran a finger over the figurine's head.
“And where did such inspiration come from, an angel in heaven?” Maria asked.
“Yes, from an angel, my own angel. You,” Nicolas answered honestly.
“This is me?” Maria scoffed. “My hair has not had this much color for ages.”
“It is how I see you,” Nicolas explained.
“I was never this beautiful,” Maria said.
“No, you were and are even more beautiful,” Nicolas said, kissing his wife on the cheek. “No work of mine could ever do you justice. But, this is close to what I see when ever I look at you, or picture you in my mind when we are apart.”
“You are a silly wonderful man, Nicolas,” Maria said as she held the doll to her bosom and patted her husband’s cheek. Then she looked at the doll fondly. “Some little girl is going to love this doll. She will run to show it to her mother and say she looks just like her. Her mother will hug her daughter tight…and…Oh, Nicolas,” Maria said as tears welled up in her eyes once more and she lay back wearily, holding the tiny doll to her heart. “Why was I never blessed with children? I wanted nothing more than to have a child, just one child, of my very own. Why did the Lord never see fit to bless us with one?”
“I don’t know Maria,” Nicolas said, pulling his wife in close as he sat beside her on the bed. “But I believe God gives us trials to see what we will do with them. I suppose He wanted us to learn something. Perhaps we were not blessed with children of our own so that we could learn to love other children. Perhaps if we’d had a child we would have been so caught up in raising and caring for him—“
“Her.”
“Her then,” Nicolas said with a grin. “That we would not have seen the needs of the other children. Actually we do have children,” he continued after giving the matter some thought. “Every child who plays with a Claus toy or eats one of Misses Claus’ famous pastries is a child of ours. We love each of them do we not?”
“Yes, we do,” Maria agreed, smiling warmly and wiping the tears from her eyes on her blanket. “I just wish sometimes, that we could have—“ Maria broke off and smiled once more, wiping more tears from her eyes. “Look at me, acting like a child. I will miss not being able to go with you this year, Nicolas.”
“What do you mean? There is plenty of time for you to get better. You will sit next to me on the sleigh this year same as always.”
“Nicolas,” Maria muttered as she began to drift off to sleep. “You would’ve… made…a wonderful…father…”
“And you a wonderful mother,” Nicolas whispered as he pulled the covers up to his wife’s chin, tears now springing into his own eyes.
After extinguishing the lights in the bedroom, Nicolas retired to the front room and sat next to the fireplace. He gazed into the fire for a long while and then sank to his knees in prayer. “Our Father Who Art in Heaven,” he began,” I kneel before you with a heavy heart. Father, my dear sweet Maria lays sick and wasting away. I cannot go on without her. Please if she is to return to your hallowed realm, let me return as well.
“Father, my heart is much troubled,” Nicolas said, changing his prayer to the thoughts that truly occupied his mind. “I am an old man; my life stretches out behind me. I…have I…I’m not even sure what I want to say. Have I lived a good life? Has my life been one that your Son would smile upon? I wanted to live the life he would have led in my place. I wish…I…I wish…” his voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought.
A noise made Nicolas halt his prayer. It was a peculiar sound, like the tinkling of tiny bells. He looked about wondering what had made the peculiar noise, listening to try and catch it again. Suddenly he saw a tiny light in the far corner of the room. It was small but grew steadily larger and brighter until the entire room was bathed in a brilliant light, brighter even than the sun at its most brilliant. Nicolas had never seen such a bright light, and yet he stared at it unflinchingly, knowing such a light should have blinded him and yet feeling no pain.
Suddenly a figure seemed to step out of that light and stood before the kneeling Nicolas. The light seemed even brighter around this figure clothed in a long robe that was whiter than the purest new-fallen snow. The robe fell to the end of the personage’s wrists and to the ankles of his bare feet. As he stood looking at Nicolas the light flooding the room seemed to gather in until it rested just around the robed figure.
“Nicolas Claus, why do you wear such a look of wonder?” the personage asked, smiling at the astonished carpenter.
“Who are you?” Nicolas managed to ask.
“My name is Gabriel, and I am a messenger from He to whom you were just speaking.”
“You are an angel of God?” Nicolas asked.
“I am,” the angel replied.
“Why have you come to me?” Nicolas asked.
“You had questions that needed answering, and in your heart you asked for one such as I to answer, and so here I am. Now tell me, what is it you would ask of me.”
“I…I…don’t know what to say,” Nicolas stammered.
“Be not afraid; speak the words I read in your heart, Nicolas.”
“My wife, she is ill—“
“She is weighed down by age,” the angel agreed. “Fear not, Nicolas, your wife will never leave your side. You two are bound by a bond that shall never be broken, in this life or the next. That promise at least I shall seal upon you.”
“Have I lived a good life?” Nicolas blurted. “I’ve tried to be a true Christian. I wanted to make a difference in the lives of others. The Lord has blessed my life so, I wanted to return something, but I had nothing to give him—“
“So you gave to the children instead.” The angel finished. “Would you like to see what your life’s work has accomplished Nicolas? Would you care to see what you have done for the Lord? Come with me and I shall show you.”
“But how?” Nicolas asked as he rose.
“You shall see,” The angel assured him. “You have but to touch the end of my robe.” He held out his hand and Nicolas hesitantly grasped the cuff of the angel’s sleeve.
Suddenly the light seemed to engulf the duo and when it receded they were somewhere else.
“Do you know this place?” Gabriel asked Nicolas.
“It is Freudendorf, the village we first visited to bring toys to the children,” Nicolas said. As he and Gabriel walked the streets Gabriel periodically instructed Nicolas to look in through windows, or the two would simply walk through walls into homes. In each home there was at least one happy child playing with a Claus made toy, some sharing with each other, others carrying on mock battles with their wooden soldiers. Nicolas recognized each, and named each in turn. “Why there’s my little Greta, but Gabriel she is grown now with children of her own."
“And her children now have children, Nicolas,” Gabriel said. “What you see is the past. You see the first doll you gave young Greta, with its golden locks of shaven wood. Greta lovingly passed that toy on to her own daughter and this very year it was once again passed on to an eldest daughter, who cherishes it as dearly as did her grandmother. It is the same in many places where a Claus toy is found.”
“Can I see more?” Nicolas asked, his eyes brimming with happy tears. Gabriel consented and the two spent what seemed hours and days visiting village after village and time after time, seeing all the children who had received a Claus toy, each one lovingly cared for and often passed on to later children. Nicolas’ heart flowed with joy and peace when he saw what his gifts had done for all the children in the land. Nicolas laughed as he watched the children play and wept when a father or mother passed a toy on to their own child with such love in their eyes. His heart swelled when he saw his dolls, puppets, and wooden animals bring comfort to a lonely or sick child.
“There is one more child I wish you to see,” Gabriel informed the old toy-maker after what seemed like weeks of visiting all the children. “This one is very special and to him you gave the greatest gift you had to give.”
“Really? Who was it?” Nicolas asked, wondering which of his toys had been his greatest.
“Come and see.” The angel took Nicolas’ hand and they walked again into the light. They exited into a small dark cave, filled with straw and animals grazing lazily. Nicolas did not know this place. He was in a land he had never visited before; even the people were strange to him. He guessed the few men in this cave were shepherds, judging by the crooks they carried and the sheep surrounding them, but what they were doing in this cave he had no idea.
Gabriel led him through the small group of gathered men until they came to stand before a young couple. The man knelt beside his wife, who sat on the ground, a baby in her arms. When Nicolas beheld the baby he instantly realized who it was. “Gabriel is that—?”
“The very Savior you so lovingly worship. Go to him, it’s alright.”
Nicolas did so hesitantly. He walked up, removing the furry red cap from his head and wringing it nervously in his hands as he approached the virgin and her child. He gazed upon the child as he knelt before him and realized he had never seen a more beautiful child in all his life. It wasn’t a physical beauty he thought as he stared at the child through the tears in his eyes, but the splendor that shown on his tiny face, and the realization of the terrible and wonderful destiny that he would fulfill. Staring into that innocent face he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful.
“Would you like to hold him?” Mary asked him, moving to place the child in his arms before he had time to even think of a response.
“I couldn’t—” Nicolas began to protest, but then the child was in his arms, and the tears flowed freely down his face. “He is so beautiful,” he told the Savior’s mother in a choked whisper. “So, so beautiful. I love you, My Savior. I…have no words to express…I wish I could have given you a gift worthy of you.”
“But you did, Nicolas, don’t you see?” Gabriel asked as he knelt next to the old carpenter, bowing his head in adoration to mother and child. “You gave this child the greatest gift of all. You gave him your love. All your life you have worshipped him and never forgotten him. Every gift you lovingly gave to every child was a gift given to this child, the Lord of all. He loves children as you do, and cherishes each toy ever given as you do. You serve the Master by serving his children, and as all men are his children, and as you have spent your life serving them, you have spent your entire life in his service. And now Nicolas I have brought you here so that he may repay you. What gift would you ask of your Savior now?”
Nicolas did not know what to say and began to protest. “But he gave everything to me already. I have nothing that is not of Him. He is my Savior, He is my breath of life, what more could I ask?”
“And yet there is something you long to ask, and one gift yet he wants to give. Ask him your hearts desire, asking in faith, knowing that he would never refuse a gift asked in righteousness.”
“But what I want is not possible,” Nicolas argued.
“Remember always, Nicolas, for Him nothing is impossible,” the angel admonished. “Remember all he has done for you; when you needed strength to finish the toys you received it; when you need animals to pull your sleigh, he provided the reindeer; when you feared you had lost your way in the night, he inspired the villagers to light the way with candles. Every request you have made in righteousness has been given you. I know the gift you seek, you have but to ask. It is not so impossible a gift; others have sought it for similar reasons and received it as well. Again I say ask of him in faith, believing you shall receive it and it shall be even so.”
Nicolas hesitated a moment and then blurted, “I do not want my Maria to die. I do not want to die, ever. I wish to live, to live long enough to give every child in all the world that will receive it just one gift a year. I wish to celebrate your birth every year until you return again, by going out at Christmas to impart gifts to children throughout the world. It is the only thing I desire; to worship you and keep hope and brightness alive in the world until you come again.”
It is done, a voice that came from heaven itself said. Nicolas set the child reverently down and knelt before him in worship.
He stayed there until Gabriel touched his shoulder and bade him rise. “Come Nicolas, it is time to return home. Maria is waiting for you.”
She was indeed. The angel led him to his home and he found her their standing by the fire waiting for him. But it was not the home he had left. When he looked around he realized they were no longer in Spielzeugdorf, the village he had lived in all his life, or even in the same country. They were in another wintry kingdom, even farther to the north, where not a soul lived but his trusted reindeer friends, those who had been called to assist him in his labors, and his beloved wife looking as beautiful as the day they had met.
“Where is this place?” He asked the angel. “Why are we here?”
“This is your new home,” the angel explained. “It is far to the north of your old home. You could not stay there any longer. As loved as you are now when time passed and you grew no older the people would come to fear and mistrust and finally to hate you, for that is the way of most men. Here you will live in peace to go about your work. From here your work shall go forth once a year as you have done every year for so long.”
And so the legend began. It was whispered by some back in the Clauses’ homeland that they had gone off together to die. But when gifts began appearing on doorsteps and by fireplaces a new legend began and new tales were told. Some said that others had decided to take up the mantel of Santa Claus and continue his work. Others said that parents had taken up giving presents to their children in Santa’s name, to keep the spirit of giving alive. Still others knew, though they could not explain how, that Santa was still there working in his shop through the years to deliver toys to all the world’s children.
Stories of Santa Claus were told and passed from parent to child down through the ages. This is one of those stories and there are many more yet to be told. And so each year he goes forth in his sled full of toys, spreading his Christmas joy to children throughout the world, crying those well known words, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Do We Need a Superhero?

Do you know why comic book superheroes and action heroes are so popular? One reason is because we like to fantasize that we could have powers and fight the bad guys like Spider-Man, Captain America and even Superman (I'm not really a fan of Superman, but that is another issue). But another reason is we would like to think there could be someone out there protecting us, doing the things we only wish we could. Perhaps we kind of wish superheroes were real. In reality, I think the world could use a real superhero or two; someone like Spider-man or Captain America. Someone who would fight the evil that exists in the world, and give us hope that good does exist.I think Aunt May said it best in Spider-Man 2,

"And Lord knows, kids like Henry need a hero. Courageous, self-sacrificing people. Setting examples for all of us. Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they'll tell how they stood in the rain for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer. I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble, and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady, and give up the thing we want the most. Even our dreams."

Those are pretty good lines. Now when I think about it, we have a hero like this in Jesus Christ. The only problem is He is not here physically right now. We have his example in the scriptures, and His words through modern prophets, but we do not see Him in the news fighting bad guys, you know?

I wonder what it would be like if superheroes did exist. I mean if Superman were real there would have been no 9/11, right? He could have swept in and caught the planes. Or if there were heroes like Captain America, he would have gone in and kicked some terrorist butt, right? But, then again, maybe we need tragedies like 9/11. These tragic experiences help us to grow in the end, we are strengthened through adversity and by overcoming them. I think that is why we like comic books so much, we enjoy watching these heroes overcome adversity and come out of the experiences stronger for having gone through it. It reminds us that we can do the same.

I wonder how we would treat people like superheroes in the real world. I mean, they wouldn't be able to run around in those cool costumes, would they? Would a guy in a leotard capture society's attention in the real world? Would someone in a costume really inflict fear in the hearts of bad people? I don't know.

How would people react to news stories of masked vigilantes fighting criminals, gangbangers, drug dealers, and terrorists? I wonder if in reality people would be afraid of them, hate them, or just think they were nutcases. That is how they are often viewed by the public in their fictional worlds. What do you think, how would we respond to a real world superhero? Probably arrest them. How would you respond to news of some person or organization out there fighting the bad guys like Batman or Spider-Man?

Here is something for fun: Create a real life superhero. What I mean is come up with a hero that could exist in the real world. He couldn't have real super powers like Spider-Man or Superman (Superman can barely exist in a fictional world he is so over the top poweriwse).I doubt he would swing around like Spider-Man or Batman, although I suppose he could have a cool souped up car. I suppose someone like Iron Man could exist to some extent. I doubt he could fly, but certainly a suit that offered protection and increased strength could be possible. Probably something more like War Machine, again minus the flying. So let's see what ideas you can come up with.

Also, who is your favorite super hero and why?

No Prayer Falls on Deaf Ears

This is something I posted on Facebook some time ago. I thought I would repost it on here now.

Three of my four children were born with a congenital condition called Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia (not sure I spelled it right), more commonly called simply CAH. Basically this means their adrenal glands do not function properly. Their bodies do not produce certain hormones needed to survive, one dealing with how your body responds to stress and the other that helps your body retain salt (which contrary to what you may have heard your, body actually needs). They are fine as long as they take their medication, steroids that do the jobs of the missing hormones. As long as they take their meds, and as long as the doctors keep their dosages correct, they are fine. But this is not what I am writing about; it is just a little background information.

Kyra, our oldest child, was the first to be born with CAH. Although we understand it better now, we had no understanding of it then, so it was a frightening experience. Let me back up and give you a little more information. When Kyra was born we were living with my parents in Anacortes, Washington. Anacortes is a beautiful little town in a beautiful area of Washington, but there is not a lot of work there. We lived there for about a year, right after Becky and I finished school. Although I enjoyed living with Mom and Dad, it was a difficult time because I was struggling to find employment and Becky's pregnancy was not an easy one. The night Kyra was born there was a freak snow storm that shut down much of the state (at the time Seattle only had four snowplows and they were all being used to try and clear nearby passes). Becky went into labor around 7 pm or so and Kyra was born around 9:30 am. It was a very long night. When Kyra was finally pulled into this world the doctor noticed almost immediately that things were not right. First of all, Kyra had double clubbed feet; it looked like her feet had been put on backwards. Second he noticed signs that her adrenal glands might not be working properly so he brought in a consulting doctor there who happened to know a lot about adrenal glands. They both decided she needed extra care, so plans were made to send Kyra to the Children's Hospital in Seattle (a place I will forever love and be grateful for), and about an hour after she was born Kyra was flown down to Seattle.

It's hard to describe how I felt then. I had barely had a chance to meet my beautiful little girl and she was being whisked away because of problems I did not understand. The doctors tried to explain things to us, but I had not slept in about 24 hours, I was worried, and so I had difficulty understanding everything they were telling us. Becky and I slept pretty much that whole day and then early the next morning, as soon as they would release us, Mom and Dad drove us down to the Children's Hospital. We spent the day with Kyra and then spent the night at the house of Becky's sister Heather (another person I will be forever grateful for).

Keep in mind this was Christmas Eve, one of the most difficult Christmas Eves I've ever spent. I spent a day listening to people try to explain my daughter's condition and help ease my fears, but it still did not help a lot. Here I was, semi-employed (I was substitute teaching at the time but not getting a lot of work), having difficulty finding full time employment, relying heavily on my parents and the government (I don't know why people complain about our healthcare system, it sure worked great for us), and here was my first born with all of these tubes and monitors attached to her being subjected to all of these different tests, and that night I had one of the most powerful spiritual struggles I have ever experienced in my life.

I was downstairs alone in Heather's house, doing some laundry I think, and all of these concerns I just mentioned just overwhelmed me. I fell to my knees in anguish and prayed to Heavenly Father for help. I felt so helpless, helpless to help my daughter, helpless to provide for my family, helpless to be the man I was supposed to be. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father, and He heard my prayer. The immediate answer He gave was to calm my heart with some words of comfort which came from a familiar scripture but at the time felt as though were being spoken in my ear by a loving Father with invisible arms holding me. He said, "Be still and know that I am God. My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment (you can find these same words in Doctrine and Covenants 101:16 and 121:7).

I was gently chastened that night, reminded that I had wept for my own suffering, having asked why I was having trouble finding a job and why I had to suffer while my child was in the hospital. I had felt anguish and pity for myself when it was my daughter going through so much more than I was. But at the same time I was comforted and assured all would be well. I asked to have Kyra cured of CAH and to get a job the next day. That did not happen, but for the next several months Kyra was cared for by some amazing doctors (she did not have to stay in the hospital all that time, we just made frequent trips from Anacortes to Seattle), and continues to be cared for. It still took time for me to find a job, but that blessing came, as all do, after the trial of our faith. We came out to Maryland for a family reunion and ended up staying here. I got two jobs here, working for Border's Bookstore (me with a job in a bookstore, how can that not be a blessing?) and substitute teaching again, those this time I had a job pretty much every day. A year later I got a job working as a studio teacher for Promised Land on CBS and we moved to Utah for the job, and eventually we came back here to Maryland and I got a job at Magruder High School.

I look back on everything, on everything we have done and received, and I know that all of it came from Heavenly Father. Kyra is now 13 years old, beautiful and one of the joys of my life. We have a home, and I have a job I love. It didn't all happen at once, there have been other struggles, other trials, but the one thing I know is Heavenly Father continues to bless us and watch over us, even in the rough times.

There is nothing special about me. Well, that's not true, I'm "special" :-), but what I mean is there is nothing special that would set me above anyone else, nothing that would lead God to help me more than anyone else. Heavenly Father has heard each and every prayer I have ever offered to Him and has answered each prayer, to because of who I am, but because of who He is. He hasn't always answered my prayers in the way I expected (or maybe had hoped for) but they were always answered. Yours will be too, as long as you have faith and let Him answer the prayer in His way. No prayer falls on deaf ears and no prayer goes unanswered. I know this. I step down off of my soapbox.

Secret versus Sacred

I originally posted this on Facebook about a year and a half ago. This is slightly edited since the end is no longer relevant.


The dictionary defines secret as "done, made, or conducted without the knowledge of others: secret negotiations" or "kept from the knowledge of any but the initiated or privileged: a secret password."

It defines sacred as "devoted or dedicated to a deity or to some religious purpose; consecrated" or "entitled to veneration or religious respect by association with divinity or divine things; holy." and also "pertaining to or connected with religion (opposed to secular or profane ): sacred music; sacred books" and pay close attention to these next three:
"reverently dedicated to some person, purpose, or object: a morning hour sacred to study."
"regarded with reverence: the sacred memory of a dead hero."
"secured against violation, infringement, etc., as by reverence or sense of right: sacred oaths; sacred rights."

Pay particular attention to the last definition because it in particular pertains to my thoughts tonight. In fact I want to combine a few particular definitions: "reverently dedicated to some person, purpose, or object, regarded with reverence, and secured against violation, infringement, etc., as by reverence or sense of right: sacred oaths; sacred rights."

I am a Latter-Day Saint, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, a Mormon. Many, if not all of you know this, it is no secret, nor are any of my beliefs secret, nor are any of the practices, rights, ceremonies, or ordinances of my religion secret. But they are sacred. I hold a few so sacred and holy, that I do not even discuss them with other members of the church outside of the temple where those sacred ordinances are performed. I know it sounds secret, it sounds "kept from the knowledge of any but the initiated or privileged" but that is not how I see it. They are sacred promises that I made to my Heavenly Father, "Reverently dedicated" to Him, that I regard with reverence and keep "Secured against violation."

I share these promises with many of you, and would love to share them with all of you, but in the right time and in the right place.

The LDS Temples are beautiful places, both inside and out. I personally feel the Washington DC is one of the most beautiful, but maybe that is because that is where Becky and I were married and "Sealed for time and eternity." In the Church of Jesus Christ we do not marry for this mortal life only, but we make sacred vows and are bound together forever, to each other and to our children. I love my wife and I love my children, my love for them is beyond words, and coming from me that means a lot. Words are what I do and yet I have no words to adequately describe just how much I love them. I'm sure you feel the same way about your family. Can you begin to understand then how much it means to me that we will be together forever, even should death claim our mortal existence, it cannot break that bond that was sealed in the Temple. It is the other ordinances, the other work we do in the Temple that make it possible for us to realize that great blessing of an Eternal Family. Can you understand why I keep these things so sacred?

Again, those things, those blessings as I view them, are not secret, I just hold them so sacred I do not talk about them outside of the Temple. They are promises if you will, that I have made between God and myself, and that is who they stay between, Him and me. I would love to share these blessings with each of you, you would just need to prepare yourself to enter into the temple to receive them. If you are interested in doing so I can help with that, I know some missionaries who would love to help out. Just let me know and I will send them your way. :-).

One last thought; if you ever see something on TV about my religion that leaves you with questions, if you want to receive true and accurate answers to those questions come to me, or to another member of the church to get answers, not the media or any who would seek to trivialize, violate, or profane what I hold sacred. If you are really curious about what goes on in the Temple, find out from the real source, not some fictionalized account.

I think I have said all I had to say. I step down off of my soap box.