Open Letter to Santa

by Angela Sanford

Dear Santa,

   It’s been a while since I last wrote—about forty years, give or take—but considering the state of things these days, I figured it might be time to check back in. My wishlist is short this year, though admittedly extremely ambitious. I mean, I’ve been a relatively good person… mostly, so I’m hopeful you can come through on at least one item.

   First, I’d love the gift of memory—not the kind that reminds me where I left my keys, but the kind that brings back the smell of snow days, the taste of my grandmother’s donuts, and the sound of laughter that didn’t yet know taxes existed—let alone how to file them. If you could bottle that kind of memory in a little jar, I promise to use it responsibly, probably while drinking cocoa and wearing flannel on a snowy Saturday afternoon.

   Next, I’d like the gift of location. I don’t need a new GPS—those just yell at me when I miss a turn. What I really need is a way to shrink the map so family and friends aren’t scattered across time zones. Even better would be some magical ability to drop in for a visit that isn’t expensive and doesn’t require three calendars and a miracle to coordinate. Maybe a teleportation app? I’ll even pay the annual subscription fee if it comes with frequent-flyer points.

   More than anything this year, the gift of global understanding. A sprinkle of compassion over the world—something like glitter, but less messy—would go a long way. Maybe then we’d all look at the world, and at each other, with a more open mind, and actually listen.

   Otherwise, Santa, I don’t need anything wrapped. Just a little magic would do.

   And Santa, take care of yourself. My back hurts just from existing at my age, so I can only imagine what yours feels like carrying the weight of children’s wishes around the world - if you want the name of a chiropractor who works miracles, I’ve got you.

Warmly (and slightly wiser),

Ange