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In This Issue

• Positively Sino-Soidal
• AIDS, SARS, Avian Flu... Bean Curd?
• A Paradoxical Paroxysm of Pancakes
• Letters to the Editor
• International Yuks
• Après Moi, Le Corbusier
• Get a Free Bobblehead, for a Limited Time Only!
• The Sweet, Sensual Twang of Success
• Shut Up, Shut Up.
• To Sachs With Love
• Santa's Grottos Steal X-Mas
• Broad Goes Abroad to Paris
• A Lesson on Father Christmas
• Hugo Chavez in 2008: He’ll Crush Us Like Grapes!
• Martha’s Civil Unrest Tips
• Politics: Opiate of the Asses
• A Plan to Unite Humanity Without Using Glue
• Mad Cow: All the Cool Kids Are Contracting It
• Things Around the World on Which to Pee
• Trapped in the Closet (Deleted Scene)
• Mario Around the World!
• THEY WATCH
• The Staff of 21.4

Kimi Traube

Wealth and ponies are a reliable measure of moral fiber.

My nephew Pilton recently disturbed my usual midday slumber in the library.  He tugged at my leg till I awoke and saw his eight-year old face tense with vexation.  I asked him, “What’s wrong?” expecting some toy of his had fallen into a drain or out of style.  Pilton began pacing around the rim of the throw rug with his little hands clasped behind his back.  He would occasionally pause and turn to me with a finger raised, then draw the finger back and continue his orbit.  I surmised that I must have become his colleague at his own imaginary university where he was working on a new theory of sandboxes and clowns, or something of the sort.  I tried to play my part: “What are you pondering, little Doctor Pilton?" “I am not a little doctor, Uncle.  I am—I have a very important question.  I noticed some things, and I have a very important question for you, a question that I want you to answer for me, Uncle.”

    As I listened I felt the surprise adults usually feel upon discovering that our younger generation is practicing induction.  “Well, what is it?”

    “For the last three Christmases, Santa Claus has given much better Christmas presents to my friend Billy than to my friend Willy.  Why, just last Christmas, Santa gave Billy a new rocket-ship bed, but he only gave Willy his dad’s old catcher’s mitt.  It wasn’t even new!  Santa just came into Willy’s house with nothing in his sack, took his dad’s mitt out of the sports bin, and labeled it ‘For Willy.’  That’s no gift at all, Uncle!”

    Pilton finished his declamation by stamping his bare foot on the rug in outrage at this mitt incident.  Clearly I needed to soothe his fears of a re-gifting Saint Nick (and remember to tell his parents not to put hand-me-downs under the tree).

    “Oh, well!  I guess Billy has been a very good little boy this year, and Willy not as good!  Now you know that Santa sees everything you do, Pilton?  Yes, and he saw that Billy was very good, and Willy, while good for the most part, must have done a few naughty things that kept him from getting such presents as Santa gave Billy.”

    “Well, Uncle, you see…no.  That just can’t be right.  I spend almost every day with both of them.  Willy doesn’t do hardly anything naughty, at least not nearly as much as Billy.  Actually, whenever any one of us is naughty, he’s usually with the other two, since we three seem to get in trouble and do bad things only when we’re all together, like that time we stole those apples to feed that bullfrog we kept in the attic.  But anyway, there’s just no way that the difference between Billy and Willy, in terms of good and bad, was the same as the difference between a basketball hoop and a book, in terms of, I guess, fun presents.”

    “Well, Pilton, Santa sees everything you do.  Certainly you three aren’t always together.”

    “Yes, Uncle, I’ve thought about that, too.  I know he’s watching me while I’m asleep…or even while I’m picking my nose, or doing anything else.  But Billy and Willy and I tell each other everything, everything we do on our own.  And we especially like telling each other about being naughty like Santa would say is naughty.  Now, Uncle, Billy has way more stories about being bad than Willy does.  Sure, Willy always has one or two, but then he starts talking about how his parents are worried about stuff, and then Billy and I start going on about how many windows we’ve broken in the old junkyard – don’t tell Mom and Dad about that — but anyway, Willy’s not a bad boy!  I know he’s not!  So why does Santa give Billy the better presents?”

    “Now Pilton,” I said, remembering that the only real stipulation of good unclehood is to keep from sending your nephew running to his parents with a Santa-less worldview, “Santa is a smart, smart man, and you can trust that he knows that Billy and Willy are different.”

    Pilton’s face scrunched up again as he tried to grasp my meaning.  “So even though Willy acted like a good boy, something besides how he acted made Santa think he was a bad boy, and that same thing made Santa think Billy was a good boy even though he acted like a bad boy?”

    “Yes, Santa can even see things like that.  He’s always watching.”

    “But Uncle,” Pilton insisted with another little stamp, “We’re practically the same!  We laugh at the same stuff!  We all like pepperoni and hate mushrooms on pizza!  Billy and Willy are the same height!  I don’t know how Santa could—” Pilton’s breath dropped out and he stared through me for a second.  “There is one thing, I guess.  I’ve been to lots of sleepovers with both of them… Billy has a very big house.  Willy has a pretty small house, a lot smaller than Billy’s and ours.”

    Here now was my way out.  “Okay, there’s a clue.  Now, does Billy have money whenever he needs it?”

    “Yes, his parents always give him whatever he needs to buy stuff.”

    “How about little Willy?”

    “Um, sometimes he doesn’t have enough money for lunch, and he usually doesn’t get candy at the store after school.”

“Okay, well, that’s what Santa sees.”

    “What does Santa see?”

    “You must understand, Pilton, Billy is rather rich, much richer than Willy, who is rather poor.”

    “But to get Christmas presents you just have to be good, and being rich or poor doesn’t matter.”

    “Actually, it matters a great deal to Santa.  What does young Billy’s father do for a living?”

    “He’s a lawyer.”

    “And laws are very good and important.  Now these good, rich people make their money by doing good, and then they even do good when they spend the money!  They pay workers, or start new companies, or buy groceries from the grocery people.  All these things are good and important to society, Pilton.  And Santa gives wealthy people presents for being good, like you should be.  Imagine all the good things Willy could buy if he only had money.  He could do a lot of good if he had money, but he doesn’t.  That’s a little selfish of Willy, isn’t it?”

    “Santa thinks that’s selfish?  Well, well what if Billy gave Willy some money?”

    “Would you give something good to someone bad, Pilton?”

    “Well, no, I guess not.”

    “Exactly, because a bad person can’t be trusted to use a good thing well, can he?  He can’t.  So then, we mustn’t give Willy money, just as Santa doesn’t give him nice presents.”

    With Santa thus saved, I clapped my hands to my knees.  Pilton knew this as the usual invitation for a big hug from his uncle and understood that it marked the conclusion of our difficulty.