It is Christmas Eve and the night is still. Somewhere in Vermont there is a small boy, no older than 10, who wriggles into his red pajamas and kneels by his bed-side. He prays for the shiny bicycle that he has been eyeing for months, and hopes with all of his little heart that Santa finds the ginger snaps and milk that he set out on the kitchen table. However, his final most urgent prayer is not for a gift, but something for all to enjoy: a white Christmas. His mother enters his bedroom to tuck him into bed. She kisses him goodnight, and he falls asleep dreaming of whatever it is that Christians dream of on the night before Christmas. Sugarplums? Yeah, okay. He was dreaming of sugarplums. However, morning comes too soon, and is coupled with the crushing disappointment of blue skies. He has not awoken to the winter wonderland of his prayers, but to a 70 degree excuse for Christmas day. Tears roll down his cheeks, yet he hasn’t even opened the encyclopedia that waits for him underneath the tree. How could this have happened? How are there flowers in bloom, squirrels scurrying, and popsicles in hand during this season of Yule? Santa’s sleigh couldn’t have possibly handled all of the snow-less landings. Surely it will take quite a team of elves to repair the magical runners on his “Toboggan-o-Toys.” Also, between his excessive body fat and red fur jumpsuit, the heat must have made for a rather uncomfortable trip. The man must have been schvitzing up a storm! However, these were small prices to pay in comparison to the reindeer casualties of Christmas ‘06. The Associated Press maintains that both Donner and Cupid have been admitted to a North Pole animal hospital for heat stroke. They also released an obituary for Comet, God rest his soul, who did not survive the night. We mourn, yet the question remains: How many more reindeer have to die before we begin to address global warming? You can show me all of the warm winters through history, but I refuse to believe that Hartford, Connecticut’s recent 71-degree day is a mere coincidence. It is time for snowmen, not ice cream men. In January, there is supposed to be a punishment for students who are stubborn enough to continue wearing flip-flops. It’s called pneumonia, but such rebels have remained footloose (pun planned, intended, and executed) and disease-free. As a Jew, there has always been one saving grace to missing out on the Christmas festivities. Year after year, we get to remain comfortably indoors while our neighbors trudge through the snow, dismantling lights and decorations. This year you could have worn a Speedo to coil the strings of bulbs and gotten quite a tan while you were at it! I feel that our December, much like the life of one Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, has “been flipped, turned upside-down.” While he may have spared Christmas for this year, the Grinch may have stolen winter instead. With this unseasonable weather, we may have found ourselves at the end of an era. “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” will be promptly replaced by “I’m Dreaming of a White Prius.” Wish lists that used to ask for no more than doll houses or video games will plead Santa for energy-saving light bulbs and low-impact toilets. Perhaps, in the Christmas spirit, the big guy could persuade Russia and China to join in on international pollution control policies. But before long, Santa will be a thing of the past. California will slip into the ocean, and my children will not be able to leave the house without a bath in SPF 650 Coppertone. There will be too many broken dreams and melted glaciers for the magic of Christmas. In the end, we have an age of sunburned atheists on our hands… perhaps it’s time to move to Denver.
