'Twas the Night Before the Night Before Christmas - Redux

'Twas the night before the night before Christmas, way up at the Pole,

all the elves were on duty, each one with a goal.

The 2013 quota was quite clear with time running short.

"I don't see how we can make it," was the Head Elf's report.

The children's wishes this year, dreamed up in their heads,

were sure to put the North Pole's ledger deep in the red.

So Santa called a meeting, and banged on his gavel.

"Time for retraining boys, or Christmas will unravel!"

"These days kids want gizmos and gadgets galore,

to post, text and stream - and it seems much, much more.

I can't say no - you know hard that would be

for a soft, sentimental old elf like me."

So the University of the Arctic was quickly constructed,

elves tuition paid - "don't worry boys, all tax-deducted."

But the dismay was apparent, clear for all to see round the clock,
from an uploaded video that was streaming on TikTok.

"No time for complaints!" St. Nick shouted and huffed.

"We've got to learn in a hurry if we're going to make all this stuff."

More frantic than Cyber Monday shoppers, the coursework he named,

Which he bellowed and shouted, and loudly proclaimed:

"Now Web Design! Now Programming! Now Applications and Licensing!

On Graphics! On Layout! C'mon boys, doesn't this all sound enticing?!

To the top of your class! Or you'll be shoveling Rudolph's stall.

Now hack away, hack away, hack away all!

As the cigarette's ash blows before the tray it doth fill,

each elf pushed through the night on nicotine and pure will.

So by dawn's early light the factory was reborn

to produce every manner of electronics for opening the next morn.

The lines were dutifully manned, each elf with a job,

assempling pads, pods and players for the next day's waiting mob.

The Jolly Old Elf wasn't jolly at all - just supremely and sadly annoyed,

reviewing lists with Samsungs and GoPros and some thing called a Droid.

His eyes -- how they burned! His dimples how creased!

His cheeks became flushed. "This madness must cease!"

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a frown.

"Their needs are insatiable - in town after town."

"Stop the machinery - Shut it down - Turn it off!"

Kris Kringle yelled out with a pleading, hoarse cough.

"Boys, I've done wrong, I got caught up in the chase,

of thinking Christmas was nothing more than a crazy rat race."

"So for this year I've decided to pull the old Switcheroo,
and give each parent a gift - a task really - something to do."
"Elves - you take the rest of the day off," Santa happily said.

Welcome words to a staff that was nearly half-dead.

Then he spoke not a word, but went straight to his den,
writing every parent a note, with an old-fashioned pen.

Father Christmas' words were plain but came from his heart,

a gift to the whole world - a plea for a fresh start.

"Mom and Dad, I admire you, you have taken on quite a task,

of raising your children - there are just a few things I would ask.

Read to them when they are small - keep them warm, safe and fed.

Don't make them fear tomorrow when you send them to bed."

"And as they grow older, set good limits - it's okay to say "No."

Trust me, they will respect you - and in time - forego,

things all by themselves without your help or aid,

but from the lessons you taught them, foundations you laid."

"And it's okay for them to believe in me, a magical old Elf,

for a few precious years until I'm put on the shelf.

But they get you for a lifetime, do your best, always try,

for the time - just like Christmas - will be gone in a wink of an eye."

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE . . .