I’m madder than old Ebenezer Scrooge when that guy with the crippled son asked for Christmas Eve off over the fact that the kids get all the great presents on Christmas and the Screecher — who’s done more than anyone to make this world a better place — ends up with bupkis.
And a bad case of agita.
Look, I’ve told you before that for years I magically transformed into Santa Claus every time the big guy had to make an appearance in Brooklyn, but couldn’t get here because of his busy schedule, or the traffic in Manhattan. But in recent years I’ve had to let guys like my nephew but on the boots, on account of the fact that Santa rides around on a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer, and not an scooter that’s made in China and has to be plugged in for eight hours before you can go anywhere — a device that Old St. Nick personally told me would raise too many eyebrows from kids who haven’t read that column written in the New York Sun so many years ago.
No offense to Tornado, of course.
Of course, this Christmas Eve, I thoroughly enjoyed the feast of the seven (plus!) fishes here in Bensonhurst with my family, and let me tell you was it ever a feast! There was so much food, we couldn’t even get to the shrimp! Dinner started at 5 pm sharp, and didn’t stop for hours, unless you count that little respite we had for those youngsters who needed a break because they don’t have their 10,000 hours of eating in like yours truly.
But I came through like the pro that I am (having gotten in my 10,000 more than a few years ago), and afterward decided to take a well-deserved nap at the nearest bed, lounge, or couch.
Now the line for the couch was too long to wait, and there was no lounge to be found, so I ended up in bedroom in the back, where I quickly dozed off.
But my long winter’s nap didn’t last that long, as soon heard the type of ruckus out front that could only be the arrival of one Kris Kringle.
I rose from my bed to see what was the matter, and lo and behold I heard the familiar “Ho! Ho! Ho!” that for 40 years came from my own mouth. To me, seeing old St. Nick in all his glory brought back visions of Christmas Past.
Now I don’t need to tell you that the kids went ballistic, and, I also don’t need to tell you that they got loaded down with gifts — some of which I would have loved to receive myself.
Look, you all know that I believe just as much in dinosaurs as I do in Santa, so when I saw my nephews open up a three-foot-tall, remote-controlled Tyrannosaurus Rex, I almost spit up that pound of baccala I devoured.
His name is Dino, and the kids were having a blast with him, I wanted to take him home!
Could you imagine the ol’Screecher riding down 86th Street atop Tornado, snickering as he watches the old ladies fleeing my remote-controlled dinosaur, which I would have wreaking havoc like Godzilla did during Monster Week on Channel 7’s 4:30 Movie! (Of course, nothing scared me more than the intro to the 4:30 Movie).
But I didn’t get to take home my toy, and, as I said in the beginning, all I got for Christmas was some heartburn from being a bit too over-indulgent.
And, of course, another year of great Christmas memories with my family.
Still, in case anyone wants to get this Santa a very much wanted toy, my dinosaur is on sale at Toys ’R’ Us for just $75.00.
Screech at you next week!