Greetings Santa,
Hope you and Mrs. Claus are well.
It’s been a while. My last letter was in 2022. According to my records, you didn’t respond. In fact, it looks like you haven’t responded to any of my correspondence since the kids moved out. My heartfelt wishes for things like more time to write and better judgement from my fishing buddies have all gone unfulfilled. Sure, as I requested in 2020, Kristal got everything she wanted, but I suspect that had more to do with me than you.
All this got me to wondering: have I somehow found my way on to the Naughty List? What could have gotten me there? I’ve racked my brain and, besides being a registered Republican, I can’t think of anything. Surely that’s not it, or you would have said something at last year’s tree lighting ceremony.
And how do these lists work anyway, Santa? There must be some sliding scale; some judgement on your part. I’m guessing very few people are always Naughty or always Nice. That certainly is the case with me.
Maybe that’s the recipe for having this year’s wish granted. Rather than focusing on being less naughty, I’ll work on being more nice (or, as the editors will want to write, “nicer”).
To assist me in this endeavor, I Googled “How to get on Santa’s nice list.” In response, AI provided a brief list of things to try. The list contained things I already do. Things like: being kind to your friends, family and neighbors; volunteering; using good manners; and giving thoughtful presents. The world can always use more of these things, so I’ll redouble my efforts.
But the list also contains this suggestion: “Be present: give your family and friends your undivided attention when they are talking to you.” This is something that I can definitely improve on, and Santa, I promise to work on it.
To my surprise, the list didn’t contain “be honest.” I’m not sure why. It seems to me that being honest is the foundation of being nice.
Perhaps AI knew, from my previous searches, that I am a fisherman. And perhaps AI was making some sort of commentary that honesty is something that fishermen can struggle with.
To this I say: It’s not so much that we are “dishonest,” but we do need the ability, from time to time, to be, shall we say, “inaccurate.”
That is why, Santa, I have only one item on my list this year: the Zebco De-Liar. I don’t mean the new-fangled digital one that measures weight within a tenth of a pound. I’m talking about the Model 208, the metal one that I had when I was a kid.
As you can see from the attached photo, the Model 208 De-Liar is a handheld scale that uses spring-tension technology to weigh fish. To use it, you hang your fish from a hook attached to a pin that passes through a visible spring. At the top of the pin is a marker that slides through a slot marked in quarter-pound increments, from zero to eight pounds. The heavier the fish, the further the marker slides down the slot.
Here’s the genius of the Model 208: as the picture and my childhood memories can attest, no fish weighs less than half of a pound. And, as I recall, the more you use the scale, the more forgiving the spring becomes. On a sufficiently seasoned scale, a two-pound bass could easily be reported as four and a half pounds.
Every fisherman can use such a tool in his arsenal. Imagine being able to validate the following exchange.
Fishing buddy: “How big was that fish?”
Me: “It weighed a lot for its size.”
So Santa … Oh, wait….I better go.
Kristal has been talking to me.
Respectfully submitted,
Mark Fiorentino, Granby, CT