Guess who? I know I haven’t written in four decades but I figure we had such a close relationship for those ten years back in the 70’s that you’d remember me. I’m the girl you surprised with the 3-foot teddy bear in 1975. He sat under the Christmas tree right next to my new, red Hoppity Hop. Yep, that one.
The reason for this letter is not what you think. I don’t want gifts this year. I have everything I need. What I want is to return for a few moments to the days when you were so prevalent in my life. The days when most everything was still new and possible, when the world was a beautiful, safe place to be, when my worries extended no further than school homework and whether or not I would get my Holly Hobbie playhouse, the days when we anxiously awaited the Rankin-Bass holiday specials that told your story. Did you know that children don’t have to wait for those shows anymore? Now, they can watch whatever they want, whenever they want. Instant gratification. That’s what we do now.
I know I let you go after all you’d done for me. I also know that you expected it. It’s the natural progression: children pass the torch of belief to the next generation who continually keep you alive. I left you in good hands.
I was so happy when we re-connected twenty years later through my babies, who wrote you letters like this one, whose happiness and anticipation overflowed into their sleep on many Christmas Eves awaiting your arrival. What precious years they were. It was good to have you back. They’re teens now and have abandoned you as I did, passing on the torch once again.
I know you’re busy in the minds of countless deserving children, so I won’t take up more of your time. I just want to say, I miss everything you represented, to me and to my sons: unbridled joy, unquestioned belief and hope.
I wish I’d held onto you longer. I wish my children didn’t let you go. I miss you, big guy.
Good luck this year and for years to come. Gone are the days of Hoppity Hops and Holly Hobbie. We’re living in a time of gaming systems with war games and Hoverboards. Your job is getting more difficult.
Perhaps we’ll meet again in another ten or fifteen years. Until then, I wish you well.
P.S. Not for nothing, but don’t you have any pull at all with Snow Miser? His brother is ruining December!