I wanted to write stories for big kids like me. I wanted a story from a dad perspective. Dads are those kind of shadowy figures who traditionally, hover on the sidelines of a story and occasionally intervene to play football or do some DIY, or, in a modern scenario, might do some cooking. Hey, my daughter’s all grown up now so I don’t do kids’ bedtime stories anymore (I miss them). You might want to try this one on some big kids or just as a dad. Still in its first draft.
Once upon a Christmas there was a little boy (called Kevin), who wished that it could be Christmas everyday.
He wished it could be Christmas everyday so that everyday he would get tons of presents and he could stuff himself with chocolates and pudding and trifle and mince pies (and all the other rubbish that we only eat once a year because it is Christmas)
He wished it could be Christmas everyday because on Christmas day he didn’t have to go to school and he didn’t like school.
LETTER TO SANTA
One day near Christmas time it was that time to write to Santa
“What do you want Santa to bring you this year Kevin?” asked the boy’s dad. “Lego, a video game, a new bike a …”
“None of them” snapped the Kevin, because he was a very snappy boy.
“I want Santa to make it Christmas everyday forever and ever.”
“Christmas everyday?” squawked his mum, because she was a very squawky person, unless she was snapping, because she was also a very snappy person.
“Christmas everyday” squawked mum again. “I hope not. I hate Christmas.”
Dad said nothing. He just groaned (like all dads do in stories like this). Dad groaned and then slunk off to those places where dads always go to get some peace and quiet – the garden shed, the garage, the cellar … (perhaps he even slunk off into a a different story)
Dad groaned a lot that was true.
“Stop groaning” squawked mum “your always groaning.”
“Stop groaning dad;” snapped the Kevin
Dad’s groaning wasn’t a moaning groan, it was more like a long, tired sigh of fed-upness. Fed up, and stuffed with fed upness all the way to his back teeth and right down into his tummy.
Dad hadn’t been a groaner at all before he became a dad, but living with two other squawky, snappy , screamy, grumpy, people had made him into a champion groaner.
Dad groaned even more when it was Christmas, because Christmas with a bunch of squawky, snappy people was not much fun.
Mum, was good at squawking.
Mum was good at shrieking.
Mum was good at screaming.
Mum was good at snapping
Mum would often squawk and shriek and scream all at the same time, like a hysterical, big-beaked parrot in an enormous flap.
The boy just snapped. He snapped and gnashed like a baby crocodile, (because at this point in the story he is still small, one day though, unless something is done, he will grown into an emormous snappy crocodile)
So, Dad groaned even more when it was Christmas, because at Christmas all of mum’s squawky snappy, screamy shrieking family would come to stay and they would spend all of Christmas squawking and snapping and screaming and shrieking at each other. They would argue about anything and everything. They would complain. They would humph and grumph disapproval at everything. They would be miserable, they would make Christmas into the worst time of the year for dad.
Christmas with his wife’s mother and her father and her brother and her sister and all their snappy, gnashy, nasty kids.
How could anyone wish that it would be Christmas everyday forever and ever?
It as Christmas Eve. Outside snow lay thick on the ground. All the other houses down the street were decked in gorgeous, gaudy, garlands of sparkling Christmas lights. Neighbours went from door-to-door with goodwill in their hearts, wishing a Merry Christmas to one and all. A group of children stood on the corner, singing Christmas carols. The magic of Christmas was almost palpable.
“What a racket” squawked mum as the carol singers harked the herald angels.
“I hate snow” snapped mum’s mum. “Mark my words, if we get snowed in, we’ll be hear until next Christmas.”
The doorbell rang
“Not again, moaned mum’s dad. “More of your neighbours. Why can’t they just leave us alone
The children ran into the sitting room. They were fighting and gnashing and snapping as usual.
“Mum, we’re the only house in the street without lights” complained Kevin.
“Dad, why haven’t we got any lights?” he snapped
“Because last year when I put up the lights, you and mum didn’t like them and you said that you didn’t want them this year.”
“We said we didn’t want THOSE lights. Seethed Kevin through tight-clamped tantrum teeth. “We wanted different lights and now we’ve got no lights.”
Everyone stared accusingly at dad, then they all humped and grumphed their disapproval .
LOOKING FOR LIGHT
Kevin started to cry.
“I want lights” he screamed as his big self pity sniffling tears turned quickly to a terrifying tantrum.
“I want lights” he screamed
Kevin’s grumpy gran and squawky aunt went over to calm him down.
Everyone stared accusingly at dad again, then they all humped and grumphed their disapproval with even more humphs and grumphs than last time.
“You’d better go and get some lights” snapped mum.
– and this was how Kevin’s dad found himself driving round, looking for DIY store, still open on Christmas Eve and still selling lights.
And the family are still waiting at home for their lights, because Kevin’s Christmas wish was granted by Santa and in the sqawky screamy snappy house, it was suddenly Christmas everyday and forever and everyone lived miserably ever after except for dad, who is still driving round looking for Christmas lights. He doesn’t seem to mind though, he has a good excuse not to go home and spend Christmas with his squawky, screamy, snappy family.