Christmas Wish

(The following letter to Santa Claus has been received for publication.)

Dear Santa:

I have only one request of you this Christmas of 2005. I have been a fairly good girl considering the circumstances encroaching on my well being. Not only has time and gravity played havoc with my physique, but the world has been doing a job on my morale. Santa, my sense of humor is in jeopardy. Please, please, please, Big Guy, I desperately need a cultural transplant.

In the land of my birth, things are going haywire. In Williamsburg, Va., the birthplace of Jefferson, a new Hollywood film will be presented about the settling of Jamestown in 1607. Patriots from near and far will crowd to this mecca of American history to see portrayed the story of our beginnings in the New World. Actor Colin Farrell will play the leading white colonist, John Smith. Farrell is an Irishman who has not had a sober day in ten years, nor uttered a single sentence without several expletives on national television. Pocahontas beware. Is this the best we can do?

In a recent poll published on a photography website, 4,000 of my countrymen voted to have their pictures taken, if only possible, with Brad Pitt (a short, overrated actor) or Angelina Jolie (an actress with liver lips and tattoos from a previous marriage). Whatever happened to luminaries like Einstein, Gandhi, or Mother Theresa? Saying “cheese” with a departed historical figure of distinction beats locking arms with cult icons of little talent. Have our aspirations sunk so low?

Santa, the world tells me I can now die happy because Madonna plans to direct and star in a movie about her life, I’m Going To Tell You A Secret, which will air in December. Doesn’t that woman know there is nothing about her life and limbs that she’s kept secret? Moreover, doesn’t she know that sex after 45 should be private? Is this what we now call cinematic art?

In American newspapers, journalists and responsible journalism once held the world safe for democracy. Lately Santa, responsible journalists are all retiring, while others are making book deals and personal headlines or making up the news entirely just for the bucks. Whatever happened to personal integrity? Many writers can’t even spell integrity let alone live it. You see what I mean about my turning sour. I need help and in a hurry.

When I look to the world stage in the New Year, my morale hits a new low. Father Christmas, remember Dwight Eisenhower was once my President. Remember Mamie, with her spit curls and her pork pie hats. These were real people. They conducted themselves with dignity, they told the truth, they were not above the law, and they honored citizens’ rights. They weren’t perfect, but America was a pretty stable, united, and prosperous land in the 50s.

If you don’t have a complete cultural transplant in your big bag of goodies, Santa, maybe I could settle for bringing back some of what we once had in the good old days. America needs its head screwed back on straight. We need to be reminded about quality in our entertainment, reliability in our journalism, integrity in our government, and justifiable pride in who we are as a people. See how serious I’ve become, Santa. I told you my sense of humor was endangered. If you can grant me this one wish to have my country less divisive and aiming higher as we once were as a culture, I promise to smile more and to lay off the eggnog.

Yours truly,

Carol Terry

18 Lincoln Road, Newtown                                    December 14, 2005