The table was set with Christmas cheer, our plates overflowing and the conversation lively. Mom and Dad sat at the head of the table in matching sweaters. Uncle Ernie was next to mom in his expensive suit and shiny shoes. Then my sister Judy, with a spoonful of mashed potatoes aimed at my head. Next to me sat my cousin Pete, who was three years older than me and an inch taller and thought it made all the difference. At the end of the table sat an elf, playing with his food. No one seemed to notice him or care that he was there. But who would object to an elf at Christmastime?
“Did you hear my son got another promotion at the paper factory?” Uncle Ernie bragged. Cousin Pete poked me in the ribs.
“Doug won first place in his art competition,” my father volleyed back. I beamed at Pete.
“That’s hardly the same as a promotion,” Uncle Ernie yelled. “One makes money and one makes squat.”
“Doug’s teacher said his art reaches right into people’s souls,” my mother added. That sounded good and I poked Pete.
“I’m just saying that Pete was promoted over people who’d been working there twice as long,” Uncle Ernie babbled on. “He’ll be taking more trips to the bank working with paper.”
“And more trips to the bathroom,” I whispered to Pete, “working with toilet paper.” He punched me in my arm.
“Doug has a great spirit,” my mother chimed in. “I’m sure he’ll find a good job when he’s done with school.”
“Dougie, I’m telling you,” Uncle Ernie preached. “Art don’t pay the rent. Sure, someday you might paint a black dot on a white canvas, and a hundred pretentious idiots will declare it great...”
“All you’re interested in is the bottom line,” my father interrupted. “When are you going to learn there’s more to life than money.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You never made any.”
“I’m a professor, for Chrise’sake,” my father screeched. “Now, look. You’re making me take the Lord’s name on Christmas.” He slammed his fist on the table, making the crystal rattle.
“Can’t we ever have a peaceful Christmas like a normal family?” my mother asked. Everyone grew quiet and looked at her. “Why don’t we ask our special guest who as the more important job?” She pointed at the elf, who continued to play with his food.
The elf jingled the bells on his hat when he looked at us with his one green eye and one red eye.
He scratched his head. He rubbed his chin. And then, in his elfish voice, he said, “In one way or another, I think we are all just elves, making toys for Santa.”
