Beyond the Byline: Espionage is not a holiday tradition

WILKES-BARRE — Now that holiday shopping is in full swing, we must all be on our best behavior.

We wouldn’t want to do anything that might upset Santa enough that he would skip visiting our homes with all those presents.

Right?

We will always choose nice over naughty, right? No sense taking any chances on not getting those presents.

So I was wondering if that ultimate kids spy is still around. You know who I’m talking about — that two-faced, squealing rat — “Elf on the Shelf!”

I mean, is he even still a thing?

He shoudn’t be. Kids know well enough that Santa sees them when they’re sleeping. He knows when they’re awake. He knows if they’ve been bad or good.

So, kids, be good for goodness sake!

Kids know they better watch out and they better not cry. In a few weeks, Santa Claus will be coming to town.

In other words — we don’t need no stinking elves on our shelves.

Now listen, we’ve all been around long enough to know that sometimes, kids can be difficult. Kids can slip up. Sometimes they don’t listen. Sometimes they sass back. Sometimes they don’t make their bed and sometimes they refuse to eat Brussels sprouts.

But kids do good things most of the time. They make their parents proud. And they really can be fun to have around.

So why freak your kids out by openly displaying a Santa spy? Why place one of those elves on your shelf and then move it around daily to assure your kids know that espionage is now a holiday tradition.

It’s just wrong.

A few years ago, I wrote about how the Elf on the Shelf was fortunate to have not been around when we were kids. The kids in my neighborhood would never have tolerated that little rat being around their houses, spying on us and ruining the days leading up to Christmas.

We always knew that the only elf that matters is Santa Claus. We would visit Santa in a department store, wait in line, sit on his lap and pour out our hearts as we told him all we wanted — not expected — for Christmas.

Santa would listen attentively, then before releasing us back to our parents, he would issue his warning.

“OK, now be good, or you will get coal in your stocking! Ho, ho, ho!”

It was a system that always worked. We knew Santa was fair and he would deliver as long as we held up our end of the bargain — we would be good little boys and girls.

And that was enough for us. We did not need a tattletale elf to spy on us. We knew Santa was watching — always.

Our neighborhood gang would gather — Chrissy the Crier, Wally the Wailer, Willie the Whiner, Stevie the Squealer, George the Drummer and Mikey the Kid. We knew it was mandatory for us to be on our best behavior.

We were joined in solidarity — one for all, all for one. No one, not one of us, was going to do anything to jeopardize Santa landing on our rooftops and sliding down our chimneys and delivering our presents while woofing down our cookies and milk.

So what happened in the generations that followed that somebody felt the need to invent an elf to spy on kids during the weeks before the holidays? Why do we need this? The old system worked fine.

The process back in the day was to visit Santa and tell him in person what we would like for Christmas. We would give him a list to choose from and leave the decisions to him.

We would also write a letter to Santa and address it to the North Pole. But we would never mail it — that was too risky. So Santa apparently came up with a foolproof way to receive our letters — after we would spend much time writing out our lists, checking it twice and all that, we would then take it to our coal stove in our kitchen and drop it onto the burning coals. Apparently, this is how mail is delivered to Santa at the North Pole.

And as far as we knew, it worked. Santa always brought us gifts we asked for and we were always happy.

We would never tolerate an elf on our shelves. We would get rid of them and never look back.

If those elves were around back then, we would execute a plan to eradicate this menace. My mom would ask me, “Have you seen the Elf on the Shelf?”

Who me? No. Last time I saw him, he was by the telephone, looking into my room.

I would act as normal as possible, keeping my composure. I would get a glass of milk and some of my mom’s cookies. I would sit on the couch and ask my dad what’s on TV.

The Elf on the Shelf would never be mentioned again.

The next day, the gang would gather. We would wonder how Santa would feel about what we did. We would all worry for the next couple of weeks until Christmas morning.

We would wake up at 3:30 a.m., run to the living room and gaze at all the presents Santa left.

And the cookies and milk would be gone.

Just like that damn elf.