I was an overly-imaginative kid, and as a result, I ended up being a very disappointed child for several consecutive Christmases. My imagination has helped me a LOT in my life, getting me the jobs I wanted, helping me to express myself via music, poems, and blog entries, but at age seven, my active mind caused nothing but sorrow.
“Why?” you ask? Because my imagination concocted a small robot that would be able to clean my room and do my chores for me, so I could play outside with my friends.
I sent letters to Santa Claus for three consecutive years asking for this robot (it was to come with a remote control), assuming that Santa was the owner of the most extreme toy workshop on the planet. I gave no seconds thoughts to the fact that Santa would not be able to concoct such an item. I made plans for this robotized mechanical slave; I imagined myself romping through fields of flowers, inadvertently kicking the heads off of the colorful blossoms as I skipped through. There were harps and acoustic guitars playing as my body danced against the ocean blue sky. My God, it was going to be wonderful. I would be free to watch Ninja Turtles, drink the coldest Kool-Ade, play baseball until my hands were calloused, and ride my bike around the neighborhood exploritorily like I was Francisco freakin’ Pizarro.
I even asked him nicely. I said, “Santa, could you please bring me that remote controlled robot I keep inquiring about? I’ve been especially well-behaved, and I would appreciate the extra free time.”
But, alas, my robot never did come. That fat, red-suited waste of Christmas cheer ate all our cookies, choked down all our dairy beverages, and flew off into the night, laughing maniacally all the way back to the North Pole.
I’m not saying I never got cool stuff, because I did. At least, it was cool to me back then. The popularity of origami has waned since 1989 (Actually, I’m not sure it was cool when the Ancient Chinese INVENTED it), and I remember absolutely LOVING my Design-a-Saur model set. With it, I could create hybrid dinosaurs that never actually existed by unhooking and mismatching the bones of Triceratops, Pterodactyls, Brontosauruses, and T-Rexes. My favorite creation ever was the Triceradonitopsis Rexosaurus. I was quite the inventor.
And at that point, on the day after my 7th Christmas, I remember my imagination kicking in again. It said to me, “Joel, if you are able to concoct such creative and amazing dinosaurs, SURELY that lazy old sack of eggnog Santa Claus should be able to construct a remote-controlled robot!”
I saw the logic in this, and as a result I wrote a letter to Santa Claus on December 27, 1989, asking once again for the gift of my dreams.
Unfortunately, in my imagination is where that robot stayed.