Haunted by Christmas Spirit
Someone needs to tell this kid (and the parents) that no one gives a rats ass what he/she does/doesn't believe in.
People have the right to express Christmas spirit. You don't have to like it.
What a pathetic brat.
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Santa Hat-Wearing Bus Driver Allowed to Keep Job
Ken Mott (Newsday)A Santa hat-wearing school bus driver on Long Island, N.Y., has won the right to keep wearing his festive headgear, Newsday reported.
Santa Hat-Wearing Bus Driver Allowed to Keep Job
Ken Mott (Newsday)A Santa hat-wearing school bus driver on Long Island, N.Y., has won the right to keep wearing his festive headgear, Newsday reported.
Kenneth Mott, who keeps a long, white beard, almost lost his job after a parent called the bus management to complain.
Mott, who has worn the red and white hat every Christmas since he started with the Bauman & Sons bus company five years ago, was ordered to stop wearing the hat because a child didn't believe in Santa Claus and was bothered by the hat.
"I said, 'What, are you kidding me?'" Mott recalled. "I thought it was a big joke," Newsday reported.
However, after Mott told other parents he might be fired for wearing the hat, supervisors changed their stance and said he could continue to wear the hat.
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posted by jillosophy at 12/21/2006 09:42:00 AM
1 Comments:
An appropriate story for the season of love (author unknown):
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb. "There is no Santa Claus." she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that
day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous"cinnamon buns. I knew they were "world-famous" because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told
her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and
let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my
second world-famous cinnamon bun.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town
that had a little bit of everything. As we walked through its doors,
Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs
it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of
Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother,
but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed
big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas
shopping.
For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that
ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew; my family, my friends, my neighbors, the
kids at school, and the people who went to my church. I was just about
thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with
bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's
2nd grade class.
Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out
to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling
the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker
didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the
ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood on it. It looked
real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the
counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed
a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a
bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of
the coat, and Grandma tucked into her Bible) in Christmas paper and
ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that
Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby
Decker's house,
explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of
Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I
crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma
gave ma a nudge. "All right, Santa Clause," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on
his step, pounded his door, and flew back to the safety of the bushes and
Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to
open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent
shivering beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I
realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma
said they were - ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his
team.
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside; $19.95.
May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that
care.
BELIEVE . . . and Merry Christmas!
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