Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes by Robert Devereaux Read Free Book Online Page B

the boys in the privacy of their bedroom.
    But what most upset Santa was the life of Matt Beluzzo at his current sullen age of twelve.
    His father, languishing in jail, despised his wife and son and had let them know it with curses, slaps, and belt-whippings. Matt’s mother smoked and overate, covering her misery in excess makeup. She rarely looked Matt in the eye but stared past him, speaking, when she spoke at all, in insults.
    For Santa, who had focused all his life on good little boys and girls, Matt’s family repulsed him. And that repulsion distressed him no end. Worse, he knew that what he had seen played itself out repeatedly in homes throughout the world. Seeing one such family was unbearable. Imagining their misery multiplied drove Santa to his knees, his hands clasped in prayer, his eyes red and wet.
    “Dear God,” he began, “I thank you for my many blessings and above all for my loving friends and family here at the North Pole and for the children who hold my truth in their hearts. My life, save for that unfortunate interlude with the Tooth Fairy, is one of contentment. Even my struggles with my...my less savory side led eventually to Rachel and Wendy’s welcome into our community and the enrichment and expansion of my marriage, for which I could praise you for all eternity and not begin to praise you enough. But tonight I must speak a prayer of pleading, a request to be granted the power to right a wrong, to extend my charter, and not to shrink from extended contact with grown-ups.
    “I am Santa Claus. It has been my rare pleasure and duty to be childlike, though ancient, the better to resonate with mortal children. The naughty ones I gave not a thought to, so full of joy was I for the others, for the effervescence of desire that filled their hearts. This was my task, and I embraced it with all my heart.
    “But now, at Wendy’s urging, I have seen how mortals fall as they leave childhood, how even well-behaved children join the grown-up world and make its lies their own. I am the heart of generosity. Now I beg permission to extend my generosity to Wendy herself.
    “She has asked the impossible. Children do that all the time, and I nod and smile, give what I can, and they forget their extravagant wishes and are content. But this time, there is no easy substitute. Wendy is on the cusp of adulthood, yet still she is my little girl. She is pushing me to grow, but I cannot see how. Teach me the way, o Lord. Show me how to save Jamie Stratton and his tormentors.
    “Please, God, do not think that I question for one moment your ways with mortals. There must be some point to the suffering, the cruelty, the cosmic game they play of exalting goodness with their words while committing the most vicious assaults upon each other—all of it must be part of your divine plan, inscrutable as it is.
    “And though the simplest of minds can easily conjure utopias—a wonder it is that not one of these alternate worlds, infinitely better, has been your gift to humankind—I do not question your ways. After all, I and Anya and my elves and, God knows, Rachel and Wendy, suffered much before the awful storm abated. But then, perhaps my second wife and my stepdaughter are more precious for having been won after such pain and suffering. Who am I to judge? So I do not question your ways, nor even expect that the gift I request you will bestow upon me.
    “That gift, dear Lord, is the ability to save Jamie Stratton from his suicide and from the suffering fated to lead him to self-slaughter. If I cannot sway his tormentors to withhold their torment, let me at least somehow divert their negativity.
    “But I dare not stray into particulars. I have made my request. You know best if and how that request will be granted. I leave it in your bounteous hands, assured by faith that you will give my plea your attention and, as always, make the wisest choice. The greatest good for all the universe, whatever it may be, is all I ask.” Santa