To The Ones Santa Misses
I wish I had a pony.
I remember saying that often when I was a kid. I don’t think, looking back, that I really wanted a horse. What I really wanted was to be a cowboy and I’d never seen a cowboy without a horse, ergo…
Fortunately, Santa didn’t fulfill every childhood wish I had. I mean, what would I have done with the horse after the divorce anyways, when my mother moved my sister and I into that little townhouse out on the edge of town where there was barely enough money to pay utilities, much less to buy horse food? Or worse, what about when she moved us to the eternal suburb that is Virginia Beach? My horse would have had to been stabled on the balcony of that tiny apartment we lived in while Mom chased after that fighter pilot jock like it was her hair that was on fire and not his.
And what would the poor horse have done when I hit my unbridled teenaged years with no father around to rein me in? He would have had a rough go of it, to be sure, with many a missed brushing and feedbag.
Some things are for the best, I guess. Still, all these years later, here it is Christmas morning and that urge is strong as ever, and I am left to wonder how different things might have turned out if every missed request in those old ”Dear Santa” letters had been filled.
I am plenty old enough now to understand that even Santa has his limits, but it is Christmas… and I can’t help but wish I might have gotten that pony.