Happy Holidays from Aaron Starmer!

It’s official, Figs: the weather is getting frightful, the mistletoe has been hung, the lights are twinkling–the holidays are upon us! To celebrate, we’ve asked some of our favorite authors to share holiday memories with us. Tune in all through December to get in the holiday spirit!

Today’s post is from Aaron Starmer, the author of Dweeb, and, most recently, The Only Ones, about a group of forgotten children who have been told–but are beginning to doubt–that they are the only people left on earth. Aaron was kind enough to share five hilarious Christmas memories with us (spoiler alert: there is no Santa Claus).

Five Christmas Moments from Aaron Starmer

1. About a week before Christmas, my mom brought me home from the nursery wrapped in a candy-colored stocking. I was a couple days old. My brother, not yet two, thought I was a gift. He grabbed and pulled and I almost belly-flopped onto the stone floor. It all could have ended there. But that’s where it began.

2. There was no internet in the late 70’s.  Steve Jobs and Bill Gates were still soldering in their garages. Had there been an internet, the picture of a three-year-old me screaming on Santa’s lap might have gone viral. At the very least, my mother would have posted it to her Facebook wall and received no less than 27 likes and some comments along the lines of, “What a little trooper!” and, “I hope you saved enough for the therapy bills!” No one would have written LOL, though. We used words back then.

3. I got out of bed because I required a glass of water. I avoided the kitchen, for the obvious reason that we left the cookies and beer for Santa in there. Didn’t want to get in the man’s way. There were Star Wars figures at stake after all. So I went downstairs instead, to the bathroom next to my father’s office. And it was in that office that I spied my parents engaged in the most despicable act. They were tying giant bows around red plastic sleds. I skulked back to bed in silence. The next morning, I found those sleds propped up against the Christmas tree.

“Who put these here?” I asked my Dad.
“Santa, of course.”
“I see. Santa. The same Santa who likes beer better than milk?”
He looked up at the ceiling and said, “Yep. That guy.”

4. I was watching cartoons, good old-fashioned, wholesome cartoons, when my brother asked me, “Do you wanna know what you’re getting for Christmas?”
“No,” I squeaked. “I’ll wait until Christmas morning. I like the surprise.”
“But we know where Mom and Dad hide the stuff,” my sister added.
“That’s okay,” I assured them. “The surprise is really the best part.
And in unison they said, “You’re getting . . .”

5. A boy can go to a theater and see a movie featuring horrific tongue injuries and still think it’s a good idea to stick his tongue—unprovoked, mind you—to an ice-cold sign at the bus-stop, just as the bus approaches to take him to the last day of school before Christmas vacation–and to a doltish, bloody tongued reputation. And a few years later, that boy can rent that same movie on VHS and revisit its treatise on the ocular dangers posed by BB guns, and yet he can still go out and stand too close to a target in his friend’s backyard and almost get his eye shot out with a BB gun. And then run home and tell his mom that the welt on his cheek is from, “Sword fighting . . . you know, with sticks.” These days, a fellow like that can even watch that movie for, like, 24 hours straight every Christmas day, on TBS, or maybe it’s TNT. But I wouldn’t know anything about any of those things.

Merry Christmas!

 

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