Father Christmas

The good Lord teaches us that it is more blessed to give than it is to receive. My Mom would probably tell you its more blessed to do anything than to receive the crap she gets from my dad year after year for Christmas. As a young child, I was scapegoated as my dad would place my name after "From:" on many of the tags attached to these senseless gifts. But no longer do I allow this to occur. For a few years now, the full responsibility of foolish gift giving has solely rested upon my dads shoulders yet it has not brought him to his senses.

Now my dad always has given good presents to me. Whether it was golf clubs, a shotgun or a new mountain bike, his presents have always been thoughtful, generous and much appreciated. But for some reason, this same ability to provide worthwhile gifts has not manifested itself in giving to my mom. I feel the only way to illustrate this is through the examples over the years.

Item #1. My mom hesitantly opens the next present from my dad. Its carelessly wrapped in birthday wrapping paper. Not a great start. As she peels back the paper, her eyes widen at the sight of a shoebox. I can only imagine the thoughts of horror going through my moms mind as she pictured my dad shopping for shoes, especially in the women's department. The last time he went shoe shopping was after he had worn through his decade old white new balances. My mom offered to go for him, but he stubbornly refused and managed to comeback with a silver and green pair of Air Force Ones, I kid you not. Nelly would have been proud. This pair of shoes was immediately confiscated by my mom as she hid them in my closet instructing me to never give them back to my father. Even I have only had the courage to were them two or three times in public. I digress...I was sitting across the room from my mom when she first peered inside the box, but the moment i saw her face twist in confusion and disgust I was immediately behind her to see what my dad pulled off this year. Inside the box were two Smurf-colored slippers. I use the word slippers loosely. They looked like two marshmallows had been taken out of the microwave and wrapped in blue nylon. The massive, puffy and brightly colored slippers literally left everyone dumbfounded. "Why?" i asked myself. Realizing that he had only moments to explain himself before the verbal abuse began, my Dad grabbed the slippers explaining why they were so great. BS flowed from his mouth about comfortable design and cutting edge materials as he placed them one by one on his own feet. In fairy tales, Prince Charming places the slipper on the foot of his love and it fits perfectly. In the Reagan house, Prince Dumb-fart places the slipper intended for his love on his own foot, and it fits! My mom being a quick one noticed this and asked my dad why the slipper fit on his foot (my dad wheres a size 12 and my mom and 8)? In a very matter of fact tone my dad responded, "So i can where them when you aren't." Nothing else in this world says, "Merry Christmas, I love you, thanks for birthing my three boys," quite like that. Strike One.

Item #2. Next Christmas, my dad really realized he needed to make up for the poor effort the year before. I figured he would ask for help, but he trusted that good ole noggin of his and came up with two brilliant gifts. A pressure washer and a blender. By the grace of God, my parents ARE still married. Strike Two.

Item #3. After several strong urges to convert to Jehovah's Witness in order to escape the Christmas season and 365 days later, my mom found herself again sitting by the Christmas tree. After opening a silver picture frame from one son, a nice scarf from the other and a colorful necklace from me, my dad came forward with a gift in hand. Snickers and jests were shared among relatives, guessing what this package could hold. I think in the back of my moms head she was hoping for switches and coal. Inside the package was a manual. My dad softly spoke, "Its upstairs waiting for you!" Was it a new car? Was it a piece of artwork? Had my dad finally redeemed himself? "What is it?!" we all proclaimed. Some women might have cried, others might have slapped their husband, but not my mom. She was now a seasoned veteran in this field. A present that implied terrible things had just been given to my mom, and she took it like a champ. That year, many women received jewels and purses, some received exotic vacations and others received heartfelt and sentimental gifts of meaning. Not my mom. She got a Stairmaster Deluxe Step-machine with "over 25 settings to make your weight loss and fat burning dreams come true!" Strike Three.

This year, my mom took my dads credit card and bought herself a present or two. I think she's earned it.

Lessons from a Mario Kart master.

As I searched for new and exciting ways to procrastinate from studying, I found myself enthralled by a war flick playing in the room down the hall. But wait, this was no movie. What seemed like the latest Spielberg war saga was in fact merely the newest video game that was plaguing the work ethic and productivity of thousands of young men across the world. While I had previously scoffed at the game, I was now impressed and captured by the violent action unfolding all-too-realistically before my eyes. One moment, you were an American soldier fighting terrorists in a Middle Eastern market; the next, you were a Cuban gangster waging guerilla warfare in the slums of Havana. With three exams in the near future, this seemed like the perfect way to spend a few minutes. But minutes became an hour and an hour became two…suddenly, I was jerked back into reality as I realized what had just occurred. It was mid-December but nonetheless, I found myself wiping the sweat from my palms and forehead as I trudged back down the hall. Upon returning to my room, I realized that I was frustrated and angry from playing the game. The controls were remarkably difficult to master; countless times I found myself being killed by who I assumed to be unemployed and overweight 28 year old men suffering from pre-mature baldness who believed that being good at a video game made up for the fact that they still lived with their parents. I even imagined them sitting there in a musty basement, picking on me, the newcomer to the game, and laughing about it as they wiped the cheese puff crumbs from the corners of their mouths. As this image haunted my mind, I realized that there was no way that this was how God intended for video games to be? Video games should be an escape from reality, not an alternate one. Mastering the controls for a game should take 10 minutes, not 10 hours. And when you are getting your ass kicked, you should be able to see the person smirking at you from across the room and not have to imagine them halfway across the globe. Why has man fallen so far away from God’s great purpose for us? Why can’t we return to the Eden of video games that Nintendo provided for us over a decade ago? Oh but we can. So turn the knobs on the old tube, blow the dust off that N64 and crank those engines in Mario Kart.

Simply put, Mario Kart is the best game ever created. And there is no better feeling than sweaty palms and burning thumbs tightly glued to that trident shaped controller. No game provides simple, clean and never ending fun quite like Mario Kart 64. Thank God someone has provided us a place where you can actually slip on banana peels, where there is never more than one woman on the road at all times and where you can’t get sued by PETA if you run into a retarded penguin. But you know, Mario Kart is more than that; it’s somewhere you can learn valuable life lessons:

1) $h!t happens. Sometimes you are in 7^th place and somehow 8^th place Luigi manages to get 3 red shells. When the game gives you lemons, don’t get down because you’ll probably get a star.

2) Never judge by outward appearance, otherwise have fun losing with Mario or Peach. It’s the inside that counts so stick with Wario.

3) If you ever see someone dressed like Peach in real life, throw a banana peel at her because she's a trina. Then when she gets mad, say, “I’m a gonna win!” and run off.

4) Pride cometh before the fall. In first place with the finish line in sight, don’t talk smack or a blue shell WILL crush you. (I’ve looked several times for the microphone Nintendo hides in the controllers to know who was talking the most crap but have not yet found it.)

5) Don’t do mushrooms on an icy bridge or you’ll end up in the wet and cold.

6) Never try and pass a semi-truck by using the shoulder.

7) Sometimes its better to be lucky than good.

8) At the end of every race be able to say, “I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

While Mario Kart has indeed made me a better person, it has provided me with the challenge of humility. To remain humble while dominating all foes is a challenge, but one that I am surely up to. So to anyone out there who reads this and thinks they can beat me, I quote one much wiser than me, Torrance Shipman, when she profoundly stated, “Bring it.”