I’m not sure how it happened, or when, but somewhere along the line, my Uncle Rob became The Real Santa Claus.
Once upon a time, he made the wood stove that heated the house I grew up in. It weighed about a thousand pounds, and threw off heat like a cast-iron supernova. I sat on it once, and still have a funny mark on my butt where the melted denim stuck to me. My dad said I was lucky I didn’t “fuse the crack shut.” Indeed.
It pleases me to know that The Real Santa Claus is a professional welder, mechanic, hunter, fisherman, and overall Jack-of-all-Trades, beloved by the children around the world. I like that kids wait in line for hours to sit and pee on him. I also admire the patience he exudes, and the joy he brings to his community every year. Perhaps one day, I’ll give him a run for his money.
But probably not.
Merry Christmas, Uncle Santa. And keep it dirty.