First of all, let’s make fun of his name. What kind of name is Xavier? A goofy one. How do you even pronounce it? Was his mom simply trying to make his later years easier by saying, “Oh, just sign on the line right here—well, you can put a big ‘X’ for your initial, that’ll be fine.”
Okay, back to the problem at hand: my life, complicated by three-foot tall Xavier. What gives, X? How could you do this to me? This is not in the Parenting Handbook (Revised Edition), that’s for sure. After the stockings are filled by the generous Santa Claus, we are now required to have an encore visit?
Let’s talk pure logistics, X: when exactly would Santa return? If you don’t like something you received in the first go-around, is it acceptable to ask him to take it back and possibly exchange it for the correct toy? or is that considered crass? Does Santa still come at night, or like soap opera stars does he make a daytime appearance?
What day? What time? Where (still the fireplace?)? If a child has somehow “slipped” back into the default setting of Naughty Behavior, does Santa get to seize the original gifts, sort of a “Santa’s Revenge” scenario?
For a moment, I consider calling Xavier’s mother. But I don’t speak French. Sure, I speak enough to ask if the other person speaks French, but when she energetically responds in the affirmative, all I can muster is “je prefer un éclair chocolat si vous plait” (food seems to be my undoing, as always).
I finally coax the story out of my son Short. After much probing, I surmise that Xavier’s parents are divorced. Santa is coming to his mom’s house on Christmas Eve, and two days later Santa will reappear at his dad’s apartment.
No more poor me. Poor Xavier.