Portions of the police report read as follows: “Mr. Forester gave many fruitcake related reasons for accosting the Village Mall Santa. It appears Mr. Forester attempted to give Santa three garbage bags full of wrapped presents. Mr. Forester stated that the presents had been mistakenly given to his family because of a ‘rather crazy mix-up.’”
“When Santa rejected the gifts, Mr. Forester became agitated. This agitation increased when Santa ‘refused to take just one bite’ of the assailant’s fruitcake. Following the refusal, a heated argument between Santa and Mr. Forester ensued. During this dispute, Mr. Forester called Santa’s pedigree and beard into question.”
“Santa stated that Mr. Forester made many ‘wild and threatening movements’ with the fruitcake. One of these wild gestures struck santa “in the belly.” Mr. Forester accused Santa of having a ‘potty mouth’ and of exaggerating the impact of the fruitcake on his belly.”
“Fortunately, for Santa and the mall patrons, Mr. Forester was unsuccessful in persuading individuals to take a bite of the item purported to be ‘fruitcake.’ After several tense minutes, officers were able to subdue Mr. Forester and disarm him of the suspicious loaf. For precautionary reasons, the loaf was detonated.”
For Steve Forester it was truly fortunate that the Village Mall santa was indeed a “potty mouth.” Otherwise, mall management would have pressed charges. However, the negative press that would have accompanied the less than saintly reactions of Saint Nick was enough to limit punitive damages to a lifelong ban from the Village Mall and its subsidiaries. All criminal charges were dropped as the police determined that waving a fruitcake wildly in a crowded mall was certainly disconcerting behavior but currently not a crime.
As far as the undeserved donated gifts, collective community embarrassment would eventually sweep that mess under the rug. Until then, Steve promised to do his best to return each gift to its original donor. Every gift except for the detonated fruitcake.
By the time Steve left the police station, he had engendered a fair amount of sympathy among the ranks. Steve Forester was not a criminal, just a very disheartened, disillusioned man. The discharging officer gave him a pat on the back and an admonition to “be good now.” Steve smiled and returned a “thanks.” Unfortunately, it had been his failed attempt to be good that had precipitated this mess.
Too embarrassed to call his wife, Steve chose to venture home on foot. The journey was five or so miles, and he was in no hurry to stand before his traumatized family.
The sun had set about two hours previous. During the day the temperature had been playfully hovering just above freezing. This led to an occasional, brief snow flurry in the foothills. Moisture was heading into the region. However, as the cloud cover increased, the temperature would most likely rise just enough to produce sloshy rain intermixed with the occasional ice crystal.
As Steve slowly trudged home, light, frozen rain began to fall. Most of the slushy ice pellets melted on impact. Occasionally, a thicker, more resilient crystal would land on Steve’s jacket, pause, and melt into rain. The effect was the same as rain, just colder and slightly delayed. By the time Steve reached his front door, he was soaked.
Steve paused before entering the Forester homestead. As he hesitated, the front door opened from the inside. Before him stood his three reasons for most everything: his lovely bride Jenny, and his two, resiliently vibrant girls.
His youngest daughter Cynthia spoke first, “Daddy, we’ve got a gift for you” Her freckled smile revealed the pleasure of anticipation. Lystra, the older daughter, took charge from here. She grabbed her father’s hand and led him to the glider rocker.
“Sit down! We’ll be right back.” The two girls ran down the hall while Steve plopped down in his least favorite chair. He looked up at Jennifer as her eyes followed the girls down the hall. When she turned back in his direction, he caught her unfiltered grace. Jennifer reached out and caressed Steve’s shoulder. Before he could respond, the girls entered into the room at full force. Lystra was carrying a carefully wrapped, frame thin, rectangle. At first perusal, Steve suspected an eight by ten to be enclosed. The girls stood by both sides of the rocker, while Jennifer perched on the ottoman.
“Well, open it up! We made it just for you.” Lystra’s command required an immediate response. Beneath the wrapping was an elaborate configuration of popsicle sticks and emory boards formed into the shape of a manger scene. Cynthia immediately chirped in, “I ate five popsicles today, just so we could finish it!” The red markings around the corner of her lips should have been a dead giveaway.
Steve looked down with amazement at the simple, creative gift. His obviously gifted girls had turned fabric scraps, magic markers, and popsicle sticks into an elaborate nativity replete with the prerequisite cast of characters.
The next twenty minutes or so, Steve gave detailed praise for the various nuances of the gift. When he reached the kneeling wise man, he had a question. “What’s he holding in his hands?”
Cynthia responded first, “Oh, that’s a fruitcake!” With those words, the temperature dipped just enough to transition the falling slush into a gentle flurry. Steve paid little notice as he gazed intently at the tiny popsicle stick baby Jesus.
Merry Christmas. Peace on Earth, goodwill to all!
Douglas Bursch is the author of Posting Peace: Why Social Media Divides Us and What We Can Do About It. He also hosts The Fairly Spiritual Show podcast.