The Chump Who Stole Christmas

So, there I was sitting in my freshmen English class with my favorite teacher in the whole world, Mr. Brackett. Now, me having a favorite teacher is a pretty big deal, when you consider the fact that I hated school. No, hated isn't quite the word. You see, I was better than school. I knew this. There was nothing I could learn trapped by four walls and behind some lousy book. If any of these crazy people thought I was going to actually return for another fours of hell AKA college, they got another think coming. Mr. Brackett was always cheery during the Christmas time but today he seemed to have an extra skip in his step. "This week is the annual 'Door Decorating' contest and I really want to win!" Now, ordinarily if a teacher is stupid enough to tell me the very thing they want (or don't want) most I am more than happy to ruin their hopes and dreams with some dastardly plan, however, Mr. Brackett was my very favorite teacher and Christmas is my favorite time of the year also so I decide – it's on. I'm still poor (nothing much changes with time) but I want more than anything at this moment for Mr. Brackett to win this contest. I just don't know how.

You may or may not be aware that Mormons have many ways of torturing their youth. One of those ways is through the Scouting program. Fortunately, my family was never much for being "active" in the Mormon Church. I say fortunately not because I have anything against the church, in fact I love the LDS Church and at the age of 26 I actually embarked on a 2 year "mission" for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints helping others to experience the love of our savior by accepting the restored gospel through faith in Jesus Christ and his Atonement, repentance, baptism and receiving the Gift of the Holy Ghost. But, since we had been "less active" my whole life, when I was youth I was able to avoid most of these debilitating hikes and torturous stays in the wilderness with some accountant named "Brother Donahue" who, although being called as 'Head Scoutmaster', knows about as much about the outdoors as I do about tatting a lace doily. You call it character, I call it child abuse.

Another of their tactics is to encourage the youth to attend something called "Seminary". For those who grew up outside of Utah – normal people – "Seminary" meant getting up at 6 am for a church class. Now, understand the dedication that these kids have. While everyone (everyone sane that is) else is in bed sleeping, warm under the covers, these guys are up, going down to the local church house and studying the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This worked perfectly for my mother, who at this time was a school bus driver. And, yes, she was THAT bus driver. The one you hated. The one who didn't let you go to a friends house without a note. The one who stood up and screamed at the kids when they were too loud. The one who seemed to have an almost weekly breakdown which everyone in the whole school heard and, sadly, the one who waved wildly to her son everyday as she drove past JUST IN CASE someone might think that she was someone ELSE'S mom. Thank you, mom. Wow, I get sidetracked so easily. If not for Seminary my mother would have to leave me alone for those 2 hours between when she left for work (6am) and when school started (8am). A fate she seemed to feel was worse than death. Of course, when your kids arrested 3 times before his 14^th birthday and made several teachers cry and 1 quit, I guess you look at things a little different. It was coming from one of these torturous days in Cemetery (cute nickname, ya think?) when I saw how it could all come together. Also, how my mom's plan of keeping me in Seminary to keep me OUT of trouble fell apart.

As we walked through the brisk morning air, I was a man on a mission. I had to make Mr. Brackett's door the very best in the whole school but it had to be very cheap or free. There was no way that some cutout gingerbread men or a "Merry Christmas!" in glitter was going to do it. It had to be big. Like, Eiffel Tower big. Like that crazy house on your block that people come from miles around to take pictures outside of. Huge. As we walked, I noticed a house pretty well done up. They had lights and canes and a wreath."Man," I thought. "If I had those kind of decorations this would be a cinch." And it hit me! Of course! I could just take theirs! They won't miss them! Plus, look at how much they had! They're obviously rich and will just buy more, while I'm poor! These guys are going to come out and see the missing decorations, go out buy some more, dump more money into the struggling economy and everybody wins! I'm a hero! I should probably be marched in front of a parade and be given a medal and the key to the city! Wow, what a kind, charitable act I'm doing. I'm so selfless. Of course, the guys with me were struggling to catch my vision. I understand, geniuses are rarely appreciated in their own time. So, amidst cries of anguish I grabbed a couple candy canes and a string of multi-colored lights.

Brackett was more than happy to see me with my goodies. We hung the lights around the door and put the canes up. Some of the other classes had drawn up some decorations but they looked ridiculous compared to my glowing peaches of Christmas goodness. "Winners use electricity" I thought triumphantly.

The next day as we walked to school, I saw that my theory had been correct. In your face, losers! Not only had the decorations been replaced but there were MORE than there had been before. Now, in addition to the canes, lights and wreath, there were lawn decorations, elves and lights on the bushes. My friends were shocked but had no choice but to admit that I was right. I grabbed a few more lights and couple canes just to secure our first place. I expected my parade invitation was already in the mail. When I got to school this time, however, Mr. Brackett seemed a bit more apprehensive. "Are you buying these decorations?" he asked.

"Of COURSE!" I said slyly. I know Mr. Brackett knows better than this but he's cool and there's no way he'd get me in trouble. He thanked me for the decorations but with a worried look told me not worry about "buying" anymore decorations for the class. No problem, the door looked perfect now and there was no way anything bad could happen. It was about time things started working out in my favor after all my hard work saving the city.

Friday morning when I got to school I could have puked my pants. Mrs. DelHomme's door was a shimmering, shining blaze of holiday delight. Unbeknownst to me, some of the kids had decided to wait until the very last day to give it all they had to win the contest. I couldn't believe it. Suddenly, my glory was slipping from my hands. How could this happen to me? There was no way I could lose! I knew what had to be done.

Meanwhile, in the teachers lounge Mr. Brackett was drinking his coffee when he ran across a letter to the editor. It read :

"To whom it may concern :

I am writing this letter as the anguished plea of a grandmother begging for help. You see, years ago my husband, Vernon, found that he had a very severe form of colon cancer. He has battled this disease for years and, it would appear, he has lost that battle. The doctors have given him only a few short months to live.

Vernon is very loved by his many, many grandsons and granddaughters and they wanted to make this holiday season a special one. They decided that each night while he slept, they would creep out to Pappa Vernie's house and (like little elves) decorate his lawn and house with lights and ornaments to ensure that his last Christmas (and last holiday for that matter) is a happy one. Each morning he would be wheeled to his stoop to get the paper and see the evidence of his grandchildren's love. But all that has been wrecked by some ruthless tyrant hellbent on ruining the last Christmas of one Lakeport's most beloved citizens.

Some inconsiderate belligerent fool has been running through our house each night ransacking it, destroying the beauty that these children (some as small as four!) have worked so hard to create. What kind of heartless monster would steal the last Christmas of a dying, wonderful man?

My letter is a plea to whoever is doing this. Please, please you are destroying this Christmas not only for my poor husband but also these children who will have this burned into the minds for the rest of their lives. Let this family live, love and grieve in peace.

Sincerely,

Margaret Davis"

As Mr. Brackett read the letter he hoped that either it was coincidence or that his warning had proved enough to stop this from happening again. It wasn't and it didn't.
School was starting soon so I ran as fast as I could back to the house. It was even better than I thought. "These guys must be loaded," I thought. "I'll make it in the paper for sure!" The house looked as if the giant Christmas monster had been out late with its friends and as it staggered along, decided those six tequila shots just weren't going to wait till he got home and puked Christmas Cheer all over this house. It positively glowed with Season's Greetings. I grabbed everything I could. Canes, wreaths, lights.. and then I saw it. Oh, the Gods had smiled on me this time. There in the middle of the yard was a four foot tall light up Santa. It's hand slowly waved back and forth, beckoning me. Take... me.... Take... me... He seemed to be saying. His beauty mocked me and could not be denied.

I got back to Mr. Brackett's class just in time to hear the bell ring. I struggled to open the door and so, when I got it open, I fell in and dropped all my presents on the ground. Mr. Brackett looked over at me, very surprised. "We're going to win, Mr. Brackett" I said smiling jubilantly.

"Where did you get this?" He shouted. I was confused. We won. What does that matter? The end always justifies the means, right? Santa's smile seemed to be mocking me again from the pile of decorations. "Wait here!"

Mr. Brackett came back and read me some letter from the wife of a man that was dying. I asked him what that letter had to do with me. He stared at me incredulously. Next thing I know I'm being arrested, again. The policemen connected the dots for me to what I still think is an unrelated matter( I took these things at 6am, they said it was done at night – I demand some forensics!).

I haul all the loot in the back of my buddies GMC and head back to the house. That's when it all got really real. Well, I got that whole story from the old lady again but this time she wasn't pleading, she was screaming. I didn't dare explain that whole "hero" thing to her, I don't think she was ready for it. As I hooked up the Santa he waved goodbye to me and the old woman made sure to inform that she will "definitely be pressing charges in the morning".

Pappa Vernie died just a few weeks later. This WAS his last Christmas. He told his wife not press charges because he said it was "just a joke". It was about time someone got my sense of humor! I did make it in the paper, although not quite for the reason I had hoped.

And I lived happily ever after.

Merry Christmas!

JUST KIDDING! Even I'M not that heartless! My deepest most sincere apologies to the families of this incident. I was a dumb kid and obviously had no idea the severity or impact of my actions.