What do you want for Christmas, pop, my kids ask?
Nothing money can buy, I tell them. What I want they don’t sell on Amazon or at Costco.
I want my best yesterday’s back for just a few hours on Christmas Eve.
I want to be a kid again on the first day of summer vacation, and feel the exhilaration of trotting around the bases after hitting my one and only home run in Little League.
I want to sit on the curb at the end of my paper route waiting for the Helms man so I could swap him a newspaper for a glazed doughnut.
I want to cruise Bob’s Big Boy on a Friday night after the football game, and get one more shot at that curve ball that froze me at the plate in high school to end the game.
I want to thank all the teachers who turned on the light bulb that made me understand and think for myself.
I want to be a rookie again sitting in my first newspaper city room banging out a story on deadline on an old Remington typewriter.
I want to hear the presses roll, and walk by a corner news rack and see my story on Page 1, above the fold. I want to sit at a Woolworth’s or Owl Drugstore lunch counter and watch the guy sitting next to me reading it over his BLT and side of fries.
I want another Sinatra album, and one more Dean Martin Christmas special. I want Johnny on at 11:30 p.m., and Cary Grant in one more Hitchcock thriller.
I want to hold my babies in my arms again, and watch them take their first steps. I want to push them on the swings and hold my breath as they climb the monkey bars.
I want President Kennedy to cancel his trip to Dallas, and the lessons of Vietnam to be learned, not repeated.
I want every bigot to walk in the shoes of those they hate for just a day — to see what it’s like to face so much hatred solely because of your skin color or religion.
I want democracy to live up to its name.
I want old people who can no longer remember the best days of their lives to wake up Christmas morning remembering them all.
I want our police officers, firefighters, and every son and daughter working on the front lines keeping our cities safe to make it home to their families every night for dinner.
I want all the nurses, doctors and hospital support staff who put their lives on the line to save those seriously ill with COVID-19 to take another bow. The word hero gets tossed around much too easily these days, but not for them.
I want gun control that makes sense, and Congress to represent ALL the people, not just the ones writing them fat campaign checks.
I want to play catch with my dad on the front lawn and see the look on my mother’s face again when she cradled her first granddaughter in her arms.
I want my grandchildren to be able to afford a house on one paycheck, and my kids to do a better job than their Baby Boomer parents did to make it happen.
I want the next Academy Award for Best Picture to go to a movie about climate control and saving the planet — a real-life, action thriller with real-life consequences. Superman and Batman aren’t coming to the rescue on this one.
I want one more Memorial Day parade with all the World War II veterans I’ve written about who defined the words bravery and commitment. The real heroes, they taught me, were the guys I’d never get to interview — their buddies who didn’t make it home.
I want every child to feel loved and every parent to give it. I want those bootstraps available for any kid who wants a higher education and a chance to be somebody.
But, most of all kids, I want you to measure success in your life not on money or what kind of car you drive or where you live, but measure it on the difference you make in other people’s lives.
That’s all I want for Christmas, kids. Not much.
Dennis McCarthy’s column runs on Sunday. He can be reached at dmccarthynews@gmail.com.