Dear Santa

I know I haven't written in forty years, and I apologize for being such a lousy correspondent. When you didn't deliver the spaceship I asked for back in '72 I sort of lost faith. Not that I blame you; if you had I'd probably still be in orbit around Pluto right now. So you definitely made the right call on that one. I don't want to ask for anything for myself, either. I have my family and friends, all of whom make every day a gift, and that's more than enough to last me forever.

That said, I do have four specific requests to make on behalf of others:

A permanent end to these end-of-the-world scenarios. I appreciate the vast appeal that the Apocalypse has to some, but it mostly frightens people. It especially scares children, and I think they have enough to fear in this world without adding to that pile.

A little more time for writers to write without something getting between them and the page. I know you can't destroy fear and doubt, but if you could send them on an extended vacation until my friends finish their books, that would be excellent.

Books for those who can't afford books. I started to help out on this one by donating a book to a child every time I visited a book store this winter, and if you can't manage this yourself I hope you'll inspire others to do the same.

Finally, some peace and good will. Both are running in short supply practically everwhere, so please distribute as generously as possible.

I know I'm asking a lot, but I do have forty years of unused Christmas wishes, so I don't think you'll mind if I cash them all in now. Please give my best to Mrs. Claus and the eleves. Also, sorry about any frisking the TSA may give you and the reindeer tomorrow night. We all have to deal with that, and it's best just to smile and let them look in your shoes.

Sincerely,
PBW