so, in december of 1999, i lived in seattle, washington. and my parents lived in salinas, california. because of that math, i ended up flying down for christmas. at that point, i had never missed a christmas with my folks. and it’s not like i’m a nut for christmas. i’m not exactly christian, so i feel like a bit of a hack celebrating a religious holiday just because it’s what the advertising and retail industry expects of me. anyway, i’m not really interested in christmas. my mom, however, lives for the holiday. the weekend after thanksgiving, she digs out her christmas carols and spends an entire day spreading the holiday cheer about the house. she had a particularly hateful tape of carols as sung by elvis presley, and while i don’t really mind elvis i loathed that entire recording.
anyway.
my mom doesn’t get all crazy about holidays in general. she sometimes remember birthdays, and i get a little worried when she doesn’t call within a day or two of my own birthday. secretly, between you and me? i love that she sings ‘happy birthday’ to my voicemail. and yeah, it’s rather bad and off-key. and i play it for anyone who will listen. but in general, she lets other holidays slide right on by. thanksgiving, she has her turkey (and the spare in the freezer, which amuses me to no end) (my mom, she loves the turkey. we might be burying her with one), and during dinner she talks about all the things she has to do for getting her christmas swag up. my dad usually retreats to another room, to read or catch up on paperwork. and when i lived at home, i tried to find something else to do, somewhere else. largely because of that elvis tape. so, i flew down to visit the peeps.
i don’t remember a whole lot about that particular christmas. it was just me and my parents and the dog. i had just gotten official word that the cancer was gone, and i remember telling everyone asking what i wanted for christmas that that right there was gift enough. i bought my parents books, because we’re all big ole nerds. and the one present i really remember is one from ’santa’. which my whole extended family knows is my mom, but we never say this out loud. because, she says, if you don’t believe you don’t receive. and the woman loves to shop for gifts, as do i.
for christmas 2001, for example, she got me this talking eeyore doll. clearly, this thing was meant for very young children. the deal was, you were supposed to press eeyore’s paw, and he would lift his head and say something. you were to ask him a yes-or-no question, and press his paw again. he would then answer, and drop his head. i was so charmed by the talking donkey that i took him to work with me. he was like the magic 8 ball, but for the grade school set. we passed him around the office for hours, asking him weird questions and laughing at his canned responses. one of my co-workers even called my mom to thank her for the great present. but she just said, i didn’t get that for her. ’santa’ got it for her.
the talking eeyore doll is in a box in my garage at the moment. i got a wild hair the other weekend, and decided to go through all my boxes and get rid of things i really didn’t need. so far, i’ve managed to give four boxes of stuff to the goodwill. but it was during this cleaning that i found him.

it’s a weenie baby. like a beanie baby, but better endowed. i’m not kidding you, this was wrapped and under the tree with a tag that said ‘from santa’. i think i stared at it for a full minute, while my mom started laughing. my dad asked me what it was, and i pointed it at him. he rolled his eyes and excused himself to the kitchen, which is the appropriate british response to your daughter holding a fluffy pink phallus. i asked my mom where she got the bunny, when she reminded me santa had bought it for me.
santa’s a freak, i said, which made my mom laugh even harder. tears were streaming down her face. look at this thing, i said, pointing the penis at her. it takes up his entire torso. could you imagine how heavy that would be? and his balls are huge. and… is that pubic hair?
she just couldn’t stop laughing. i tried to imagine a santa character walking into one of the adult stores in nearby santa cruz, where i just knew she had bought this crazy thing. but the best i could do was imagine my mom wandering around the sex shop, with her santa elf hat on, and seeing this bunny. and laughing herself silly.
it was a funny gift, even though i didn’t laugh nearly as hard as she did. when i was packing to leave a few days later, i stuck the bunny in my suitcase. my mom later admitted she took it out of my suitcase, and stuck it in my carry-on.

she drove me to the airport, and since this was before the trade center exploded, she waited with me in line. now, i almost always end up being the person that security decides to randomly search. not so much since now we all have to take off our shoes and belts just to get to the gates, but back when you were allowed to stay dressed i must have looked threatening. which i don’t get. maybe it’s my complete lack of eye contact with security officials, whatever. so, the big security guard has us step to the side so he can peek inside my backpack. i have to explain the two big prescription bottles, but he checks them against my driver’s license anyway. my mom tugs at my arm and starts to talk, but i sort of wave her away. the security guard removes the weenie baby. holds it up so several people can stare, and he asks me, what is this supposed to be?
it’s a bunny with a cock, sir, i say. santa brought it for me. you know, for christmas.
he looks at me, then at my mom. i glance and my mom, and i see she’s biting her lip, and trying not to laugh. people around us are starting to snicker. the security guard drops the bunny.

santa’s a damn freak, he says.
thanks for stopping by.