The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Well, it’s that time of year again when old Skeeter and the mizzus and a few friends pony up the sleigh and head out to the boondocks where Christmas is barely on the radar. Where the stockings hung with care are full of holes and nobody expects a miracle anytime soon from Santa or the Easter Bunny or Donald Trump. Mostly just another day in a long succession of rainy ones. Okay by us.

You get my usual Christmas gift: a reprieve from these endless droning observations on the South End. A chance to clear your heads. Maybe even turn off the TV and the news and shut down the computer. We’re definitely going to. Sounds real good to me. Real good. I hear about one more analysis of that tax bill most of the people who passed it don’t know either what all’s in it, I’ll eat my hat and the mistletoe hanging above it.

So before we go, Merry Christmas to all of you and Tiny Tim too. And Santa, if you’re listening, I’ve been only marginally naughty so maybe you could grant me one measly present. How about bringing me a new America. One that isn’t so greedy. One that isn’t so militaristic. One that cares about the poor and the infirm. One that values compassion over swagger, truth over braggadocio, science over corporate consultants. You know, the America we used to believe in even if it probably never existed. Just asking…

And if you’re too busy, I’d take a cup of kindness. Short supply, these days, I know.

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