Dad, Listen by William Turbyfill

Dad, listen, we need to talk.

Look, this isn’t going to be easy for either of us, but it’s a conversation that needs to happen. I’m not going to beat around the bush; you’re not a child so I’m not going to treat you like a child. I’m going to come right out and just say it.

Last night, underneath the mistletoe, I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.

I know, I know, I should have been in bed fast asleep, but let’s not lose sight of priorities. It’s true that I was up past bedtime but in doing so, I may have uncovered a scandal far more insidious than mere bedtime tardiness.

Something about the way Mommy tucked me in made me suspicious. She got me a glass of water and she told me a story, but Mommy forgot to sing me a song. Mommy never forgets to sing me a song. So after she left and things were quiet, I creeped downstairs for a peep. Don’t worry, she didn’t see me.

Then, from the top of the stairs, I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus. And it wasn’t a peck on the cheek. It was a real Mommy Daddy kiss. In fairness, there stood underneath the mistletoe so at first I assumed they were just obeying the Christmas rules, like how I’m not supposed to open presents early or how you’re not supposed to say anything mean about Uncle John.

But it gets worse.

You know how Santa Claus has that snowy white beard? Well, after Mommy kissed him, underneath the mistletoe, she… I saw mommy tickle Santa Clause underneath his beard. There’s no Christmas rule that says she has to do that underneath the mistletoe, in fact, I know for a fact that there’s a rule that says you’re not supposed to even touch Santa’s beard. It’s written on that sign at the mall.

Yes, yes go ahead and laugh. Let it all out. Lean in to whatever emotion feels best. We shouldn’t fight our natural responses. This is going to be a strange process for us all. Especially when I move with mommy to the North Pole.