Dear Mr. Romney,

You obviously don’t know me — and I doubt sincerely this missive will ever reach your eyes — but I still felt the need to express some feelings I have over something you said a few days ago.

First, a little about me: I’m a Democrat, though I have been known to vote for other party candidates if I felt they were better qualified.  I do occasionally agree with something a conservative says, but overall I stick to party lines.  I do so primarily because the majority of your fellow GOP members and I don’t see eye-to-eye regarding the rights of women and LGBT individuals.  It’s safe to say that you’re not going to change my mind on those issues any sooner than I will you, so we’ll just agree to disagree — as it is, that’s not the reason I’m writing.

Friday morning, as my boys wolfed down their breakfast, argued about Pokemon characters and wished it was already Saturday (well, one of them was hoping it was), I read an article where you essentially said that poor and middle class people are just jealous of the rich.

“You know, I think it’s about envy. I think it’s about class warfare,” you said to Matt Lauer on a segment of ‘The Today Show.’  You went on to chide President Obama for using the whole ’99% vs. 1%’ as part of his campaign, further fueling what you denounced as ‘class warfare.’  “That’s inconsistent with ‘One Nation Under God.’ You added in for good measure.

You know what?  I’m going to agree with you…to a point.

I mean, let’s be realistic: who wouldn’t want to be rich and never have a care in the world?  I know I certainly wouldn’t mind waking up to step out onto the deck of my giant, private yacht, anchored in crystal clear Caribbean waters.  I’d love to be able to turn to the wife and kids and say “Hey guys, who wants to jump on the jet and hit Disney World this weekend?”

And yes, I readily concede that there are those in this country who feel the ‘system’ owes them.  We’re no stranger to stories of Americans getting caught cheating the Welfare system or filing false insurance claims, because they feel they should do little work but reap great rewards.  The sad fact is that there’s always going to be people who want something for nothing.

But Mr. Romney, you conveniently gloss over several simple truths in your attempt to make it sound like the majority of us are just a bunch of mean-spirited kids, jealous of the little rich boy on the block with his fancy toys.

No matter how hard you try to ignore it or pretend its not true, Mitt (I can call you Mitt, right?) the wealthy pay less taxes in comparison to the middle/poor.  This isn’t just a stereotypical liberal whine: The IRS produces an annual report on the some of the highest income-tax payers.  And from that document, anyone can see that those individuals have seen their incomes swell, while the amount of taxes they pay has shrunk thanks to all those loopholes and deductions.  On the flip side, the income for average Americans has not changed in the last few decades, though their taxes and the prices they pay for food, goods, etc., continue to skyrocket.

Another bit of rhetoric I have heard on occasion is “Why do you want to punish hard working Americans who struggled to become successful?”  Again, I’ll willingly admit that there are many people in this country that started with nothing and fought their way to success and fortune.  Believe it or not, we don’t begrudge them.  They are the fortunate individuals that had an idea or invention or something and the timing was right to market or sell it.  At the same time, they could very easily not have had their moment, and be living in a middle-class neighborhood with the rest of us.

In other words, their success does not make them better than anyone else, nor does it exempt them from being responsible to help keep this country running.

I’d also like to take this time to remind you that studies suggest nearly 40% of the wealthy inherited it.  It’s true someone in their family worked their fingers to the bone to get where they are today (again, we applaud their hard work), but their decedents enjoy the benefits of being well-off without any effort or recognizing the value of a hard day’s work.

Envy sir?  Maybe that’s the wrong term.  Anger and frustration certainly.  A seething recognition that it’s tiring to see multi-millionares (both Republican and Democrat) stand on stages and tell average Americans how they ‘understand’ their financial woes.  Perhaps its disgust because so very rarely are “We The People” represented in politics by our actual peers.  But given the millions of dollars spent by folks in an election campaign, very few of us can ever hope to sit in on a session of congress or the White House — unless of course we’re just visiting.

Maybe it’s the fact that we watched this country teeter on the brink of a complete economic collapse because Financial Institution execs just had to have that extra million dollars in their already inflated bonuses, at the expense of people who saw their homes foreclosed or their retirement accounts dry up and wither away.  It could also be disbelief when we see a company go belly-up, leaving the employees without incomes, while the CEO inexplicably walks away with a severance package that could probably sustain a small town or county for years.

Mitt, I think it’s safe to say at this point unless you do something completely irrational, we’ll be seeing you in the Presidential debates alongside President Obama.  But I will not be voting for you.  Not that I’m a huge Obama fan: though he got my vote in 2008, he has not impressed me as much as I hoped he would.  But you have proved beyond a shadow of a doubt how deeply out of touch you are with the average American.  And that’s why I believe you will not win.

You claim it’s about ‘Class Warfare,’ Mitt?  You are correct, sir.  Only we didn’t start it.

“Today we learned about Martin Luther King,” Aidan chirped.

“We learned about him yesterday,” Matty jumped in, attempting the usurp the conversation as he has been apt to do lately.  Kimmy quickly reminded Matty that Aidan was talking first, and to let him finish.

“So today we watched a cartoon about Doctor King,” Aidan continued, “And like these three kids went back in time and met Dr. King.  And like they talked with him and like, got to know about like equality.  And then they brought Dr. King back to the present, but when he was a kid, and like do you know what happened?”

“No, tell us,” I asked.

“Segragation!” Aidan shouted.

“Excuse me?”

“There was still segragation and black people were treated poorly and like one of their friends was like a maid and like black kids and white kids weren’t allowed to go to school together anymore.  So like they had to find a way to send Dr. King back in time so he could teach everyone about like being good to each other and he had to die, which was sad.”

“Wow,” I replied, “And what was the moral of the story?”

Before Aidan could reply, Matty jumped in “It means you should never take someone out of the past because you could seriously mess up the future.”

At that moment, I was very grateful for the red light so I could have a moment to ponder the fact that Matty’s main concern was not equality of all people (though he did mention that later) but rather the structural integrity of the space/time continum.

I swear this kid is going to rule the world someday.  I try to keep all comics involving Doctor Doom away from him so as to avoid any inspiration.

(Incidentally the cartoon Aidan watched was “Our Friend Martin”)

Yabba-Dabba-Doo

Personally I think I enjoyed this year’s special more than last — I know alot of folks felt the opposite however.    But I rather loved The Doctor’s madcap antics as the ‘caretaker’ — trying to make a happy Christmas for the family facing a tragedy.  And the reunion at the end followed by the “Happy Tears.”  Yep, I was bawling.

Anyway, today is “Little Christmas” so I figure I’m still in the clear for posting this.

The operators of the Exhibition are apparently attempting to dodge payment once and for all by officially ‘dissolving’ the business.  Yet strangely their site and Facebook pages still have information about 2012 events.

Here’s Tony’s story.  If you are a fan of Steampunk, a Steampunk vendor, or a participant in the Great New England Steampunk Exhibition, you may want to give this a read.

On Black Friday, I continued my yearly tradition of barricading myself in our house until mid-afternoon, when I’m relatively sure that the majority of fevered shoppers have long left.  As it happened, a couple of light bulbs needed replacing, so I took a quick drive down to the Home Depot.

As the cashier rang my purchase up we made small talk: she asked me if I’d gotten some good deals that morning.  I laughed and informed her how this was my first outing for the day.  As I paid for the light bulbs and got ready to leave, I wished her a very Happy Holiday.

Her response?  A big smile and “The same to you.”

For the last couple of years, we’ve been bombarded by various groups going absolutely nutters around this time over the “War on Christmas.”  Never mind the fact that a number of other holidays are celebrated during this season: Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice and/or Yule.  Or the fact that it was Conservatives — in the form of 17th century New England Puritans — that first attacked the holiday, banning its celebration for almost 200 years.  Or the fact that you don’t have to look much further than a major retail chain store opening up on Thanksgiving night to pushing, screaming, pepper-spraying customers to see where the true “War on Christmas” probably resides.

Look, I’m not saying I don’t understand: I get why someone might get upset if a town Christmas Tree gets renamed “Holiday Tree” (although technically the tradition of decorating a fir tree for the yule season pre-dated Christianity, but I digress).  And when Atheists erected giant billboards reading “Christmas is a Myth” last year, I got miffed.  Not that I’m a religious guy: I simply think that everyone has the right to believe — or not believe — what they want without having to shove it down everyone else’s throats.

But getting upset because someone wishes you a “Happy Holidays?”  That’s one I’ve never understood.

A few years ago I read a rather polarized comment on a message board.  To paraphrase, it went along the lines of, “I wish everyone a ‘Merry Christmas.’  If they are Jewish they can just tell me that they celebrate Hanukkah and I’ll know better for the next time.”  I was blown away by this level of insensitivity.  I was tempted to ask the individual how he would feel if someone cheerfully wished him a “Happy Hanukkah” but I decided against it.  I suspected I already knew the answer.

I have a simple rule: If I know you deck the halls, I’ll wish you a ‘Merry Christmas.’ If I know for a fact that you’re a master at the Dreidel spin, I’ll wish you a ‘Happy Hanukkah.’  But if I’m just meeting you for the first time — or I don’t know what your religious beliefs are (if you even have any at all) — I’m going to wish you “Happy Holidays.”

It has nothing to do with political correctness.  On the contrary — it’s about respect.  And frankly, if you really believe that anyone who says “Happy Holidays” is insulting you or your beliefs — then maybe you don’t truly understand your beliefs in the first place.

Come on people…if it was good enough for Bing Crosby to sing, it can’t be all that bad.

By all means if you don’t agree, tell me.  Would love to hear your opinion!

A quick follow-up: A good friend of mine reminded me of an important fact that I should have included in my blog: That the word “Holiday” was derived from “Holy Day” (actually the Old English word ha-ligdæg which basically meant ‘days of religious observance’).  I think it’s important that this be mentioned given the backlash against the use of “Happy Holidays” — in fact you’re essentially saying “Happy Holy Day.”   (Take THAT Fox News)

In just a few months, our twin boys will be eight years old. Long gone are the days of snuggling on the couch while watching ‘Go Diego Go’ or playing with Elmo toys. Now it’s all about Beyblades, video games and watching ‘Regular Show’ and ‘Adventure Time with Jake & Finn.’

And kisses — blech!

They’re also starting to ask that dreaded question. No, no — the OTHER dreaded question: The Santa Claus question.

It was a simple thing. We were sitting on the couch a few days ago when my one son just looked at me and asked “Do you believe in Santa Claus, Dad?”

“Of course I do, baby,” I answered, nervously expecting to have to defend my answer.  Instead, he took my response at face value and went right back to the pile of Legos he had on the floor.

I can’t say I’m completely surprised. I suspect that a number of their classmates are questioning the plausibility of a husky senior citizen breaking into their homes to leave them presents every December 24th.

I myself was just a few months shy of ten years old when I found out ‘the truth.’  A couple of kids in school told me what went on after I went to bed Christmas Eve. I didn’t want to believe them, so I went right to the one person I knew would give it to me straight: my Nana. Even then, she tried to soften the blow by telling me the story of the true St. Nicholas, and how Moms and Dads honor his memory by pretending to be Santa.

Nevertheless, we were both heartbroken afterwards.

My Mom recently told me that my Dad took the loss of Santa in our house particularly hard as well: he was the one who would drink the cocoa, eat on the cookies and then write a note thanking me for leaving the treats. “He really loved doing that for you,” she said.

I know how he felt, as I’ve been the note writer in our house — though my wife and I share the duty of cookie crunching and carrot nibbling (you have to leave carrots for the reindeer!).

I remember the first time we took the boys to see Santa. We were still living in Queens at the time, so we visited him at the Queens Center Mall. Being little guys, and incapable of disagreeing with our decisions of what they wore, we dressed them in their own Santa suits. I remember tearing up a little bit at seeing my boys sitting on Santa’s lap, looking at him curiously, neither of them crying. ‘Santa’ was tickled that they were dressed like him and spent extra time with them as there weren’t any other kids waiting to see him.

The following year we returned to the mall; “Santa” took one look at us, beamed a great big smile and said, “Well now, I remember you boys from last year!”

No surprise, I teared up again. For the first time in years, Santa Claus was back in my life — and he was as real as real could be.

And so I’m slowly preparing myself for the inevitable. At the same time — and there’s a part of me angry at myself for admitting this — there will be some tiny bit of relief when it does happen.

As most of us know, the Holidays aren’t cheap — certainly not these days. And like every year, the kids want the hottest thing for the season.

It’s easy for us as parents to tell our kids that we can’t afford to buy them something or that it isn’t available in the stores — but how do you tell them that Santa can’t pull it off? For them, Claus and the elves build PlayStations, American Girl Dolls and everything else in his workshop, all for free.

Of course it’s really our fault for allowing Santa to morph into the gift-churning machine. In a number of European countries, their version of St. Nick still does what he’s done for centuries: delivers a small toy or treat to the good children.  And I’d wager those kids are quite content.

But here in America, we just don’t have the heart not to make our kids holiday wishes come true.

In our house we’ve done our best to tell the boys that Santa can only bring a few things for them, and they’ve seemed more or less agreeable. This year, however, they’re both asking Santa for Nintendo 3DS game systems. “That’s not a lot,” one says. “And they’re not big presents, Daddy!” the other notes, based on the size of the device. They haven’t quite figured out yet that some of the smallest things in the world can be the most expensive. (Wait until they have to look for diamond rings.)

So yes, Santa will be bringing them what they want this year. Because my wife and I are suckers for that unbelievably huge smile that comes with believing. And because I want to nibble on those cookies, write that note and hear them say “We love Santa!” at least one more Christmas morning.