Every year I get the enviable task of editing my parent’s holiday letter to the masses.  The first draft I get is usually a rambling, extended run-on sentence.  Whatever happens to pop in to my dad’s head, he immediately writes down.  He is the king of non-sequiturs … jumping from carpenter ants to mom’s thyroid problem without a hint of punctuation.  And don’t even get me started on all the misspellings.  He obviously hasn’t figured out the spell check button on his computer.  But he tries his best to get his points across – so bonus points for that.  

Invariably, I read the first draft and then proceed to hold down the delete key – for what seems like an eternity.  After perusing my handiwork, I then continue deleting until the letter fits neatly on one page.  (The first draft alone was nearly three pages – and that wasn’t even counting the pictures Dad wanted to include.)

Gone are the bits about what Mom and Dad had for dessert on New Years Day.  (“MMmm – spumoni with rum sauce!”)  Gone is the detailed list of all the movies they rented from Netflix in 2008.  Gone is my dad’s soliloquy on the highs and lows of holding a garage sale.  And, finally … gone is any mention of aches, pains, ailments, lesions or general health maladies.  Believe me, the whole Xmas letter could have been an ode to their doctor. 

The highlight of their year was the addition of the new family dog, Weezy.  But was there any mention of that in the Xmas letter?  Nope.  Poor Weezy got left on the cutting room.  Seems the purchase of a new snow blower trumps new dog.  Go figure.  

Whoever decided annual Xmas letters should be included in holiday cards should be shot.  Immediately.  Just a thought.  And before you say BAH! HUMBUG! – lemme tell you that I only half-heartedly scan those letters before quickly pitching them.  One of these days I’m gonna write something tantalizing in the middle of dad’s Xmas letter just to see if anyone is paying attention.  Something about Mom and Dad jetting off to Paris for a romantic weekend.  Or Mom finally getting that boob job she’s been dreaming of.  Who knows … but anything is better than reading four paragraphs about the annual battle with fallen leaves in the backyard.