A Christmas list is a bold statement - the idea that you deserve something, much less the entire contents of a manicured list, is a brave stance to take, particularly when you’re young. And then bringing that list to a man you only see once a year and not spending your time catching up or asking about his family but instead reciting the list to him in full expectation of his timely delivery of said items is… extremely presumptive.

Yet Santa listens, and smiles, and nods appreciatively, and takes a picture with you, and instructs one of his elves to give you a lollipop. Amazon™ does not give us lollipops, or photographs, or empathetic smiles - only boxes.

Having never been allowed to sit on Santa’s lap -

(see: https://lowerblackpain.substack.com/p/gifts-of-thwipmas-past )

my relationship with him was more mature. I stood next to him, man to (little tiny) man in thoughtful, respectful discussion. I always thanked him for what he had delivered the year before, and only brought him one request, and then only if it wasn’t too much.

This year I am respectfully asking Santa for gifts that don’t cost anything. There are more than one, but he doesn’t have to wrap or deliver them, so I’m hoping the resulting carbon offset equals everything out.

Gift No. 2. Dignity. “The state or quality of being worthy of respect” In Two Acts.

(first act: tragedy)

The next to the last straw in leaving my long standing corporate job was a comment by company leadership regarding the saying of “hello”.

Our business had experienced a series of financial downturns, resulting in a total overhaul of work space: the majority of private spaces were demolished in favor of an open floor plan. Shared upscale picnic tables with a long corridor in the middle led to the only remaining offices on the perimeter. In these offices were important C-Suite talent.

So obviously to get to these offices, company leadership had to walk past a sea of employees, busy at work in the 36” by 24” space they had settled into that day. Complaints were lodged that as they passed, they would only greet a handful of those who said “good morning” to them, most often acknowledging the same few employees every day.

That complaint came to me, as the executive responsible for inclusion and benevolent cultural interaction. When I spoke to leadership about this, I was told (in a chummy, “you understand” kind of way) that since we could no longer offer raises and bonuses as incentives for diligent dedication, attention was being used as a substitute.

“Dignity is a human currency.” I was told, in what felt like confidence due to the lowered volume, slight narrowing of eye and leaning inward of head. “We can’t just give it to everybody. People should feel it’s something they need to earn. We have to give people something to aspire to, and worry about.”

And that was it for me, because parceling out the simple dignity of acknowledgement, flagrantly disregarding every person’s intrinsic value in order to manipulate those under your management is… well… bad, I think.

At that moment I knew it was time to find somewhere more generally aligned with my “you should just kind of try to be nice to everybody” policy.

Again, I think this might have been told to me in confidence. Hmn.

Ok, well, don’t tell anybody.

(second act: comedy)

I directed a play in high school written by a cast member of the Monty Python’s Flying Circus comedy troupe, a sendup of the kind of murder mysteries written in 1940’s UK boys adventure magazines. None of this coordinated with my existence as a 1980’s black kid in Kansas City, but I thought I could adapt the material a bit.

That didn’t really work, so I went the other way, adding a surrealist slide show with odd musical choices between scenes… like a live-action Python episode.

I was actually cast in the play as the irascible old grandfather, who predictably is the first to get murdered. Due to some silly plot point, the characters are not allowed to move the body, so it is covered with a tablecloth until the police can arrive. I would be able to run the projections from the balcony if I could just find someone to switch with me during the blackout. Since my hands were visible from under the tablecloth, it had to be an African-American someone.

There was a guy… in my class, just about my size, probably the smartest guy in the school, and the only other person besides me to use duct tape to hold his glasses together from time to time. He was not interested in the theatre, but found my proposal intriguing - slip under the tablecloth while I leave the stage, stay there for about 17 minutes, then come out and take a bow with us. The simplicity of the whole operation amused him, and he thought it would be a fun fact to add to his transcripts for college admissions.

Everyone knew him, but only peripherally, as, well, that smart guy with broken glasses (from time to time); not a football player or a cheerleader - his identity was stable and entirely free of controversy (or dare I say, drama).

So, Iike most of us in high school, he was underestimated. And that is what led to the most significant moment of public adoration I have ever been a part of.

We were required to perform each play for an assembly of the entire school. Mine was the second of two one-acts performed that day. For a midwestern high school’s reception of a student-directed surrealist rendering of a post-war British farce, things went pretty well.

At the end, all of the main characters are murdered and covered with tablecloths (it’s a comedy): so for our curtain call the last cast member standing (the chambermaid) takes a bow alone, then one by one takes off each person’s tablecloth for their bow. When she finally reached where my character was sitting, I walked out from the side of the stage.

The audience was visibly and audibly confused. I responded with a furrowed brow, looked behind me, turned back to them as if to say “Oh! That!” and walked over to pull the tablecloth off my double, bespeckled, in full makeup, who strode to the dead center of the stage with his arms raised triumphantly above his head.

It was absolutely deafening. Every student, every teacher, instantly on their feet, cheering madly. It lasted for almost a full minute… the rest of the cast did the thing where we all stepped back and held our hands out facing him, like he was the conductor of the orchestra we didn’t have in the pit.

And amazing as that moment was, it was afterwards that made the difference, when people were giving this kid high fives in the hallway, all the freshmen knew his name, and teachers randomly patted him on the back. He walked a little differently down the halls, yes, with dignity, but not because someone has given him a little respect, but because they acknowledged that he had been worthy of it all along, and they just never knew. Everyone had been impressed with how smart he was, and thought they had him pegged, but he defied their definition and did something brave and unexpected. Cool.

The play didn’t inspire even one person to ask me about groundbreaking British comedy, but watching that kid, I absolutely didn’t mind.

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