Have you heard of the Elf on the Shelf?? It’s a elf doll that that you can buy at most any book store. You move the elf around every night and the kids think he’s really watching them and scaring them into behaving for the holidays.
Well this is some new-fangled ploy that didn’t exist back when my now 24-year old nephew was a little boy. We had something even better. It involved a cheap Santa suit bought at an after Christmas clearance sale, my father, and some pitiful theatrics that could fool only a child under the age of 6. Believe me when I tell you that anytime he spent time at my parent’s house, he was a gosh darn angel and here’s why…
One year my mother picked up a clearance-priced Santa suit at Walmart the day after Christmas. Let me go ahead and say it was a sorry excuse for a Santa suit. The material was thin flannel that was almost transparent. The belt and spats were made of cheap plastic that looked like they had been cut from a black garbage bag, and the beard and hair had to be as flammable s gasoline fumes. To us it looked ridiculous but to my 3 year old nephew it looked like….magic!
The next Christmas my father went upstairs, donned the cheap, flammable Santa suit and came downstairs to greet my nervous and terrified nephew. We thought he was only nervous and terrified because this shabby excuse for Santa was in the house. Little did we know…*smirk*
The next week, my little nephew was afraid to go upstairs and he lingered around the bottom of the steps looking up with a look of wonder and a look of horror on his face…we’ll just call it wonderful horror. This is when we found out what was going on.
I tried to get him to go upstairs. NO WAY!!! He looked at me and said, “No, Clausen (that’s what he called him) is up there!” He thought that shabby-assed Santa lived upstairs in my parent’s home! How funny, right???
That’s when our plan was hatched. Everytime he started acting like a pint-sized asshole we would yell up the stairs to Santa. “He Santa!! Do you see this??? He’s misbehaving!!” Immediately he would settle down. Oh…my…God!! This was wonderful. Genius!!!!!
You’re probably wondering how we kept “Santa” hidden. Well, any time the nephew would go upstairs Santa would disappear, of course. Children couldn’t be seeing Santa unless he’s at the mall, in a parade, or on TV for God’s sake…everyone knows that!!
Christmas came and went. We couldn’t pull that little trick anymore. Wait a minute…maybe we could.
Hell, he thought Santa lived up there when he wasn’t at the North Pole. If he thought Santa lived there in December why couldn’t he live there in February??? June??? September?? The back bedroom upstairs at my parent’s house could be the jolly old elf’s friggin’ bachelor pad to get away from those damned elves, ratty reindeer, and bitch of a woman to whom he was married (eat, Papa, eat!!!). Why couldn’t he live up there all year long? Let’s give the fat fudge wad a year long lease!!! The kid was only 3 years old. He had no grasp of time. We could keep Christmas alive forever in my parents house!! And we did…
As the year went along we started adding theatrical elements when he started to be an irritating little shit. I would go upstairs to “talk” to Santa. I would take cover in the back bedroom, stomp around, and yell out in a super, deep voice, “Ho Ho Ho”!!!
The nephew would be running around outside in the middle of July acting like a mad man flinging sand and dirt all over everything. I would run into the house yelling, “Santa watch him. He’s doing it again!!!”
Every single time he would turn from a devil into an angel….okay maybe a terrified angel but he wasn’t misbehaving anymore. It was downright amazing.
He was invisible for 364 days a year and on that one one fateful day, Shabby Santa would emerge from the upstairs to scare the shit out of the kid and confirm that he did indeed live there. Life was good!!
We kept that little dream alive for about 3 or 4 years. It was a sad, sad day when we found out the nephew didn’t believe in Santa anymore. We didn’t care so much that he didn’t believe anymore. We had lost our gold!! How were we going to get him to behave now???
I often laugh about those days and I really hope my nephew has forgotten all those antics. You see I have no kids of my own and expect him to take care of me when I’m an old, dried-up lady. I guess the joke will be ok me when he says I can just move in with Shabby Santa, huh??
Chick out…
Well this is some new-fangled ploy that didn’t exist back when my now 24-year old nephew was a little boy. We had something even better. It involved a cheap Santa suit bought at an after Christmas clearance sale, my father, and some pitiful theatrics that could fool only a child under the age of 6. Believe me when I tell you that anytime he spent time at my parent’s house, he was a gosh darn angel and here’s why…
One year my mother picked up a clearance-priced Santa suit at Walmart the day after Christmas. Let me go ahead and say it was a sorry excuse for a Santa suit. The material was thin flannel that was almost transparent. The belt and spats were made of cheap plastic that looked like they had been cut from a black garbage bag, and the beard and hair had to be as flammable s gasoline fumes. To us it looked ridiculous but to my 3 year old nephew it looked like….magic!
The next Christmas my father went upstairs, donned the cheap, flammable Santa suit and came downstairs to greet my nervous and terrified nephew. We thought he was only nervous and terrified because this shabby excuse for Santa was in the house. Little did we know…*smirk*
The next week, my little nephew was afraid to go upstairs and he lingered around the bottom of the steps looking up with a look of wonder and a look of horror on his face…we’ll just call it wonderful horror. This is when we found out what was going on.
I tried to get him to go upstairs. NO WAY!!! He looked at me and said, “No, Clausen (that’s what he called him) is up there!” He thought that shabby-assed Santa lived upstairs in my parent’s home! How funny, right???
That’s when our plan was hatched. Everytime he started acting like a pint-sized asshole we would yell up the stairs to Santa. “He Santa!! Do you see this??? He’s misbehaving!!” Immediately he would settle down. Oh…my…God!! This was wonderful. Genius!!!!!
You’re probably wondering how we kept “Santa” hidden. Well, any time the nephew would go upstairs Santa would disappear, of course. Children couldn’t be seeing Santa unless he’s at the mall, in a parade, or on TV for God’s sake…everyone knows that!!
Christmas came and went. We couldn’t pull that little trick anymore. Wait a minute…maybe we could.
Hell, he thought Santa lived up there when he wasn’t at the North Pole. If he thought Santa lived there in December why couldn’t he live there in February??? June??? September?? The back bedroom upstairs at my parent’s house could be the jolly old elf’s friggin’ bachelor pad to get away from those damned elves, ratty reindeer, and bitch of a woman to whom he was married (eat, Papa, eat!!!). Why couldn’t he live up there all year long? Let’s give the fat fudge wad a year long lease!!! The kid was only 3 years old. He had no grasp of time. We could keep Christmas alive forever in my parents house!! And we did…
As the year went along we started adding theatrical elements when he started to be an irritating little shit. I would go upstairs to “talk” to Santa. I would take cover in the back bedroom, stomp around, and yell out in a super, deep voice, “Ho Ho Ho”!!!
The nephew would be running around outside in the middle of July acting like a mad man flinging sand and dirt all over everything. I would run into the house yelling, “Santa watch him. He’s doing it again!!!”
Every single time he would turn from a devil into an angel….okay maybe a terrified angel but he wasn’t misbehaving anymore. It was downright amazing.
He was invisible for 364 days a year and on that one one fateful day, Shabby Santa would emerge from the upstairs to scare the shit out of the kid and confirm that he did indeed live there. Life was good!!
We kept that little dream alive for about 3 or 4 years. It was a sad, sad day when we found out the nephew didn’t believe in Santa anymore. We didn’t care so much that he didn’t believe anymore. We had lost our gold!! How were we going to get him to behave now???
I often laugh about those days and I really hope my nephew has forgotten all those antics. You see I have no kids of my own and expect him to take care of me when I’m an old, dried-up lady. I guess the joke will be ok me when he says I can just move in with Shabby Santa, huh??
Chick out…
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