Last year, people thought it was still a possibility. People were not sure if they believed or not. They looked at me suspiciously. They asked questions that would have made Sgt. Joe Friday proud.
Ma’am can you describe the suspect and his modus operandi?
Have you actually seen the suspect near these stockings in the past?
I expected them to bring in a sketch artist.
What about the suspect’s motives? Why would he break into the house and not take a thing? Why would he leave things?
I pleaded the fifth.
People in my house would toss their doubts out casually, just to see my reaction. “Hmm,” I’d say as I mulled their philosophical discussion about the physics of sleigh travel.
“What do you think?” I’d ask when they debated the ergonomics of chimney construction, flues and — most importantly — roaring fires.
“That’s interesting,” I’d say when people asked about the topography of the arctic circle and living conditions in that region.
Still, when the time came, the stockings were hung with care at night. And in the morning they were filled with things that I, personally, would never buy — like red jelly beans — because they are bad for your teeth. There were video games I disapprove of and do not allow people to play.
And the plate of cookies? Empty. The napkin crumpled and smeared with chocolate and jam. The crumbs scattered across the table.
Even more incriminating, was a few weeks later when the snow had melted a bit. The girls were playing in the backyard and came upon a handful of carrot stubs near the door. The ends of the carrots had been nibbled off.
People were surprised. Although they didn’t believe, they brought the pieces of carrot in for my inspection and said with a bit of wonder, “Look! Where do you think these came from?
Who would be eating carrots in the backyard? Hey, it must have been his ...”
It must have been. I don’t know who else would be chomping on raw, unwashed carrots.
People tell me the big guy isn’t coming around this year. I understand what they are saying. When you are 10, the world is not quite as magical as it used to be. Now, the world is about the facts, ma’am.
I think we’ll still set out cookies.
I think we’ll still hang stockings with the greatest of care.
I think we’ll just have to let the carrots fall where they may.
Linda S. Mah, whose opinion column runs on Wednesdays, can be reached at (269) 388-8546 or email@example.com