BEFORE

Here it is! Proof positive that I would never, ever want to be Santa Claus. Can you see the fear? The abject terror? The glassy-eyed stare?

Not on Hunter . . . on Santa!

Probably it isn't quite as bad as it seems, because I honestly don't remember other kids freaking out the way Hunter did--but it could be that the others paled in comparison to Hunter's reaction.

Today will tell the tale.

Is Santa still the bogey-man?

Will Santa need recuperation time at the funny farm?

Will Hunter need cough drops and a soothing gargle after it's all over?

Time will tell.

This reporter will update all very, very soon.

Stay tuned!

Breakfast with Santa

This morning I'm giving thanks for a phone call.

Farida rang me up yesterday to invite me to breakfast with Santa on Friday morning. There are certainly those who are convinced I'm slipping back into childhood more each day, but this post isn't a function of that.

Those of us who've been associated with Hunter Jackson Wilks over the nearly four years of his life know that Santa has been the bane of Hunter's existence. Farida and Jason have faithfully taken their son to meet Santa each year (except his first, I think, when he was less than a month old). It's always been an ordeal. Our boy's Christmas portaits feature him bawling his head off--and Santa looking around wondering how he can apply for combat pay.

That's why the call was somewhat of a surprise.

"Um, Farida, does this invitation include Hunter?"

"Yes."

"Does Hunter KNOW he's going to see Santa?"

"Yes."

"Is Hunter okay with that?"

Instead of answering, she turned away from the phone and addressed the young man in question.

"Hunter, do you know who Santa is?"

"Yes."  I could hear his voice in the distance.

"Do you want to see Santa?" she asked him.

"Yes."

Hmmmmm, what a difference a year--and preschool--make.

You can be sure I'll be there with bells on--and with a camera around my neck--to record the event for posterity.

Wish Santa luck.