Shingle-Schmucks and other lies
I lie a lot to my two children, Louis Romero, aged five, and Sophie Rigoberta, aged four. Indeed, many, if not most parents, do as well. Most of the lying happens around Christmas, but it extends to the rest of the year as well.
The lying in our home is often around the fantastical stuff concerning Santa, and the Easter Bunny, and other made up guys, like elves, and Shingle-Shmucks.
The Shingle-Schmucks are specific to our home, as far as we know. They live on the Planet Raspo, which is entirely made of pizza, where all the trees bloom with Oreo cookies, except for one tree, which consists of chocolate chips.
The Shingle-Schmucks are curious tiny creatures, curious because of their various unique characteristics, including the fact that when they want to travel, they activate the tiny helicopter blades lodged on the inside of their elbows. Whiz, whiz, and up they fly.
All important facts to know when early this past Tuesday morning, Louis Romero darted into his parents’ bedroom, concerned. For his mother, my wife, Simone Claudia, was nowhere to be found.
Usually in the early morning, Simone Claudia can be found traipsing about the kitchen, preparing for the day. But she was absent. Entirely, from the entire house. And the car, also known as Al, was also gone.
“Mama’s gone, Papa,” Louis Romero proclaimed. “And so is Al.”
Because Papa, that would be me, had forgotten that a few days ago, that Mama had told me that she would silently slip out to a 7 a.m. appointment this particular morning, without waking any of us up, I too became alarmed. But only mildly. For Simone Claudia does not do this often, or ever.
Except when we are occasionally short of milk for breakfast. So I told Louis Romero that maybe Mama had gone for milk. “No!” he shouted, “I looked in the fridge, and there are many bags of milk there, for tomorrow and other days.”
The ever vigilant Louis Romero had already launched his own investigation.
So then I became somewhat worried. What of my wife and his mother? Before I had time to think, Louis Romero exclaimed, “Papa, you have to phone somebody!” Good point, I thought, so I countered, “Who should we call Louis?”
The answer was clear and certain, “Santa! Call Santa!”
“Maybe not Santa,” I offered, “Because he is far away in the North Pole.”
“No, Papa, you are wrong, so wrong! Santa can see all the way to here. Call Santa now, Papa.”
So I called Santa. And as I did, Mama Simone Claudia miraculously returned from her appointment.
A bunch of lying and mysteries were explained. And the very real Santa had a big part in it. As did Al. Sadly, the Shingle-Schmucks did not have a role. But no doubt their helicopter-elbows begin to whiz at the happy return of Mama.
Lies, lies, beautiful lies.