Due to some recent confusion about the true meaning of this week’s important holiday, today we check in with noted yuletide advice columnist Professor Christmas.
The professor — whose credentials include a Ph.D. in Christmasology from North Pole University and a master’s in Manger Studies from Bethlehem State — has generously agreed to answer a few questions from readers.
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Dear Professor Christmas —
I’ve spent a bundle on toys and presents in hopes of giving my kids the best Christmas ever. Should I be worried about the Grinch?
— Felix Navidad, Epping
Dear Felix —
Fear not, for the Grinch — though undeniably a mean one with garlic in his soul, his heart an empty hole — is “fictional,” or “not real.” Unlike Santa Claus, who is not only very real, I had lunch with him just last week. No, my research suggests this so-called Grinch is nothing more than an urban myth created from the imagination of some obscure children’s book writer.
* * *
Dear Professor Christmas —
Could you please share one of your favorite Christmas memories?
— Joy from Stratham
OK, and here is a clue: It involves a very special calendar. A tale of young ones finding joy in simple things and the power of imagination.
When they were little, each year my children would peek out the window — their presence rapt — watching for the postman, awaiting the arrival of …; the Emergency Calender from the Seabrook nuclear power plant.
Oh, the historic pictures, the evacuation maps, the safety tips. (March: “Have you changed your smoke/carbon monoxide detector batteries?” Priceless!)
‘Twas truly magical for the children. How they loved to picture what we’d do in the event of winter time meltdown. We’d imagine bundling up in our minivan and speeding across the nuclear winter wonderland at 90 mph, those crazy sirens wailing their sweet music, as we sipped eggnog spiked with potassium iodide — laughing all the way!
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Dear Professor Christmas —
I’ve been working part time this month as a department store Santa just to make ends meet, make sure my family’s got enough mincemeat. So the other day I promised a kid I would bring him a puppy, then looked up and saw his mother scowling at me.
But the kid really got to me, even told me where he lives. Should I head over to his chimney in the wee hours Wednesday and sneak him a baby dog?
— Secret Santa, Newington
Dear S.S. —
Though your impulse is very generous, it is also fraught with risk. Speaking from experience, state and federal laws broadly prohibit anyone from entering someone else’s home without their permission. Anyone other than the true and actual Santa Claus, of course.
* * *
Dear Professor Christmas —
I’ve got a big problem with the overemphasis on materialism and consumerism at Christmastime. My son has been watching toy commercials all month and last week he gave me a list “for Santa” that was like three pages long. (What the heck is a “Despicable Me 2 Fart Blaster”?)
Sure, he’s been relatively “nice” this year (other than that incident involving refusal to eat his lima beans), but do I really have to drop $2,000 to fill my little boy’s heart with joy? Must we forever kowtow to the whims of the Candy Cane Industrial Complex?
— Frankly Incensed, Exeter
Dear Frank —
I feel your pain, buddy. But nobody likes a cheapskate. Everyone knows that without billions in consumer spending during the holidays, the U.S. economy would be Scrooged.
So man up, dad! Better pop a couple Xboxes and PlayStations in that shopping cart, too. After all, you don’t want the lad falling behind his peers in those all-important video game skills.
* * *
Dear Professor Christmas —
I just watched “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Good old George Bailey and all his friends sharing the spirit of community…
Why can’t the world be like that anymore?
— Nicholas, Hampton Falls
Dear Nicholas —
It’s true that the world’s gone a little haywire. But you need only look into the hearts of your family and friends, the people you love. That is where you can always find a Christmas miracle. And remember, every time you think of Professor Christmas, an angel gets their wings.
— John Breneman
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