BY MORGAN RENNER

From A Christmas Story to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, it almost seems as if the media prefers a quirky, sitcom-esque holiday to a formal, picturesque one. The former certainly poses a much more attainable standard for “the perfect Christmas,” as everyone seems to have a funny story about one year or another.

Many years ago on a cold winter’s night,
Mara Coyan was glued to the screen with Santa in sight
The Santa Tracker became her Yule Time vice,
Though young Mara had worked hard all year to be nice
Christmas Eve was the day and dark was the sky
When a small blinking dot caught the small girl’s eye
Into the living room she rushed with such clout
And insisted that the loved ones and relatives “Get out!”
For Santa was coming, Santa was near!
The computer had said so; he was practically here!
So the grandparents and cousins and uncles and aunts
Rushed out the door followed by chants
“He’s in Greenland! Greenland! Across the Atlantic!”
“I need to go to sleep!” said Mara, in a panic
And so sleep she did, after her family obliged
Then sugarplums did dance and Santa did ride
Across America he came to settle on the roof
Of a “sleeping” young Mara, who heard every hoof

 It was early Christmas evening some years ago
When Patrick Renner looked out at the snow
The day was winding down; every present had been unwrapped
Church had been ‘tended; eggnog been uncapped
Family was beginning to arrive through the door
Bringing seasons tidings and cheek pinches and more
Grandma had brought a lovely, heavy white pot
So Patrick leaned over to see what it had got
Then, from nowhere he gasped and wheezed-
And suddenly little Patrick let out a sneeze!
All over the veggie casserole, his mucus did spread
Luckily, it did not reach the ham or the bread
Only that dish, already an unsettling green,
Its maker was the only one not to have seen
Later wondering why no one chose her casserole,
Grandma asked, and everyone said they were full
And to this day, she still has no hint
Of young Patrick Renner’s Yule Time stint.

 Very early on the twenty-fifth of December,
Chelsea Hendricks, then small, awoke from her slumber
She gathered bearings and hopped out of bed
Hoping for a doll, a book, or a sled!
Down the stairs she raced, and on the bottom did fall
But sprung back up as if it had not happened at all
Little did she know, the thump had awoken Max, the dog
Who only two minutes prior was sleeping like a log
He dashed from the kitchen, paying no mind
To the girl he bowled over or what he would find
Surprised and shocked, he had no time to stop!
Max slid across the floor like a slippery, rouge mop
And into the tree, he slammed with a clatter
Mrs. And Mr. Hendricks awoke to see what was the matter
And from the fallen tree, Max emerged with a whine
All covered in presents and wrapping and twine!
After the dog was brushed off and some ornaments glued,
That bright Christmas morning, alas, hastily continued