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When I was eight years old, I was the only child of two young nurses who worked long hours. I was alone a good portion of my time. To amuse myself, I read incessantly and had boxes full of Barbies and Transformers and Hot Wheels cars (my parents encouraged me to play with both "boy" and "girl" toys, and I still love them for that). I would spend hours in my room concocting detailed soap-operaesque plots for my Barbies, creating entire lives for them but sometimes it just wasn't fun anymore. I would talk to my dolls, but they never talked back. It was an empty, one-sided relationship where I gave and gave, and only got a frozen smile back from them ... much like my romantic relationships over the past few years, come to think of it. But I digress. That year, I saw an ad on TV for a new doll, Cricket, who I desperately wanted with a feverish passion. At about 30 inches tall, she was a large, battery operated Aryan-youth looking doll with bright blue eyes and silky flaxen platinum-blonde hair in nauseating curls. Cricket talked and sang when a cassette tape was inserted into a tape deck in her back. Her coked-up eyes and rosebud mouth moved along with the tape, which made her creepily life-like. And I wanted her. Real, real bad. Knowing that my parents probably did not have an extra $100 to spend on her for me, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and plead with the big guy upstairs to reward my good behavior with everlasting peace and harmony with my animatronic blonde friend. No, not God. I decided to talk to the fat stalker dude in the red furry suit. I labored for days over my letter to Santa and crumpled up many versions, thinking maybe, just MAYBE, my perfect penmanship and flowery language would impress him and help my case. The final version of the letter went something like this ... |
Dear Santa,I have been a really, really good girl this year. I know I almost killed my kitty, Snoopy, when I put my pink-and-blue plastic golf club under her elastic collar and bounced her up and down. But really, I thought she would enjoy it. I mean, *I* enjoy being bounced up and down. My mommy spanked me pretty hard when she found me doing that, and told me that the kitty didn't like that, and that it might even kill her. I was sorry! I never wanted to hurt Snoopy. So, I have been a really good girl the rest of this year, and never meant to hurt her, so maybe you can just forget all about that day?
Anyway, I REALLY want a Cricket doll. My mommy and Daddy work a lot, and I don't have any brothers or sisters, so I have no one to play with me. I am tired of my Barbies. I want a friend who I can play with, who will talk to me and keep me company. Then I won't be lonely any more.
I love you, Santa!
Tara
I sealed up the letter and passed it off to my mother, who promised to mail it to the North Pole. Later that night, she dragged out the letter and upon reading my youthful, innocent submission, promptly broke down and sobbed. In the few words that I chose, and in the admission of loneliness I made to Santa, I managed to make her feel like a terrible mother who had turned her child into a borderline latchkey kid.
Needless to say, I got Cricket that year. Thanks, Santa.
A few years later, I grew bored of her crazy eyes and her lack of creativity. Her favorite thing was to make dull, vapid statements like "Am I cute, or what?" and "Is this fun, or what?" Her ending every question (which, Cricket honey, you SERIOUSLY need to get a freaking mind of your own and stop trying to seek my acceptance!) with an "or what?" made me want to disagree with her and cuss her out, just to prove a point. But, she came in handy as a portable boombox – I would load up her back with Def Leppard and Milli Vanilli cassette tapes and watch her mouth try to move, completely out of sync with the music, her eyes opening and shutting like someone having a seizure. Ah, those were the days.
On Christmas Eve a few years ago, I was sitting enjoying a quiet cup of egg nog with my mother, when she pulled out the original letter I had written to Santa that year, begging for Cricket to come into my life. We laughed, we cried and we shared a bonding moment. Because really, although I may have been a bit lonely that year, I had parents who loved me and put my happiness and wellbeing before their own, so much so that they would sacrifice and scrape together hard-earned money to purchase me the one thing I wanted most – a friend to be there when they couldn't.
So, on that note, happy holidays, everyone. May you be surrounded by Crickets this year, those special friends who make you realize that you truly are loved.
xoxo
- Tara
