Christmas Year-Round? Not With This Wallet

They are like leprechauns after one too many martinis, a little too giddy, a little too loud.

“Keep going, Dad!” one of them screams as I carry the tree into the house.

“Don’t drop it, Dad!” yells the little red-haired girl.

Christmas is all around them. There is candlelight in their eyes, even though there are no candles. That’s how lit up these kids are, high on the holidays.

“Go, Daddy, go!” they scream, running in circles as I carry the tree inside.

“Dad, can’t you tell them to calm down?” my lovely and patient oldest daughter asks.

She is sitting at the dining room table, drinking hot coffee through a straw. I don’t know when she started drinking coffee. She is only 14. When you’re 14, you don’t need any extra caffeine. When you’re 14, your body produces all the caffeine it will ever need.

“Maybe you should get an artificial tree,” she says as I stumble around with the big tree. “Then you could just leave it up all year,” she says. “Like Aunt Margie.”

I have an aunt in Chicago who leaves her tree up all year. It’s not because she’s crazy for Christmas. She just likes to see the surprise on people’s faces when they drop by in July and see the Christmas tree still in her front window.

“Let’s leave our tree up all year, too,” says the little red-haired girl.

She really likes the idea of a year-round Christmas. As it is now, the season is way too short. And, as far as she’s concerned, there could be a little more emphasis on gift giving.

“Then we could get presents all year,” she says.

“That’d be awesome,” her big brother agrees.

They stand around and congratulate each other for inventing a new and better Christmas, a longer season in which they could eventually get everything they ever want, and the kitchen would always smell like fresh-baked cookies and candy. They don’t know why they didn’t think of it sooner.

“Hear that, Santa?” says the little red-haired girl. “We might have Christmas all year.”

She talks to Santa Claus the way other people talk to God, looking up at the ceiling and making her requests. Sometimes she sends him lists, but usually she just talks to him directly, clasping her hands together as if in church.

“You’re talking to Santa, not God,” her brother reminds her.

“I’m talking to both,” says the little red-haired girl.

To her, they’re sort of the same. They can both do the impossible. They’re both pretty forgiving. They both know everything that goes on.

“And don’t forget that CD,” she says with a smile.

Some days, she runs out of time before saying all she needs to say to Santa. So she speaks to him in her sleep, mumbling to him in the night about dolls and cutting-edge software, all stuff she really, really needs.

“That’s the trouble with Christmas,” I finally say. “There’s not enough greed.”

“What?” says the little red-haired girl.

“Greed,” I say. “We need more greed. It’s good for the economy.”

“Please, Dad,” says the boy. “Not again.”

He has heard this before, this lecture on greed. It happens every Christmas. For some reason, his father thinks the holidays are a good time to instill some real values.

So they get this lecture on greed. It starts with a little sarcasm, then builds to a lot of sarcasm. Before it’s over, his dad is telling horror stories about growing up during the ‘70s, about double-digit inflation and Arab oil embargoes, and how it’s too bad kids today didn’t have to live through such a time. Because tough times like that can really teach you to appreciate what you have.

“You done, Dad?” they always ask.

“Yeah, I’m done,” I say, before ranting and raving a little more.

But when it’s over, the boy still doesn’t quite know what’s so bad about wanting everything you see. Capitalism is built on such principles. And he can’t think of a single famous person who is poor or middle class. So what’s so wrong with money and materialism?

Besides, Christmas only comes once a year. At least for the time being.

“Go look at Dad’s wallet,” my lovely and patient oldest daughter tells him. “Then you’ll understand.”

She has seen her father’s wallet, and it’s not a pretty sight. It’s a typical dad’s wallet, old before its time, bulging with ATM withdrawal slips and little else.

It looks like it has been opened and closed a million times, dispensing cash five bucks at a time, for movies and cheeseburgers and other worthy causes, until now it sits empty on the bed stand. Broken. Beaten down. A dad’s wallet.

My patient and oldest daughter explains to them how a dad’s wallet never contains quite enough, especially this time of year. She explains that this wallet will soon be responsible for other important things besides Christmas. There’s her upcoming college education, for instance. And, in a year, she’ll need a car.

So to think that some sort of lavish Christmas will somehow spring from this tired, old wallet . . . well, it would take a miracle.

“Come on,” the boy says to his little sister. “Let’s go pray for Dad’s wallet.”

“OK,” says the little red-haired girl.

As they scamper off to the bedroom, I turn back to the tree.

“Dad, I don’t need anything special for Christmas,” my lovely and patient oldest daughter finally says.

“Really?”

“Really,” she says.

I look for signs she’s kidding. But for once, there are no smart comebacks. She just sits there, drinking coffee through a straw.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” she says.

* HATE CHRISTMAS CROWDS?: An itinerary for stress-free shopping. Coming Thursday