Letters to Santa... the Fiasco.

One of my colleagues had a favour to ask. His wife teaches primary school and her kids wrote letters to Santa and thought it would be a nice idea for some of our kids to respond to them. I jumped at the chance with my grade 10 class. Simple project, right?
I handed out the letters and gave clear, concise instructions (or so I had envisioned in my teaching utopia):
- The children filled in the blanks of a pre-written letter, indicating that they had been a good boy/girl, would leave (blank) for Santa and (blank) for reindeer and humbly requested three potential Christmas gifts (some included a drawing too).
- My grade 10 class was to respond with some kind of "Santa-like" greeting, NOT make them any promises of specific gifts - only to "do his best" to get what they wanted, congratulate them on their behaviour and make some Santa-smalltalk about Mrs. Claus, the North Pole, reindeer etc..

Here is what Mark L., one of the bright minds in my grade 10 class handed in:

Dear little boy

I was happy to get your well-written letter on what you want for Christmas. It sure is nice to get a letter (and a beautiful drawing!) from such a nice little human.
As such, I would like to confess something to you, Devin. I, Santa, am not what you think. On TV or in books or as the stories your parents read to you depict, I am a jolly old fat man who lives in the middle of nowhere on top of the world.
In truth, I am just the opposite. My real name, or rather, program title is Systematic Android with Nuclear Technical Anatomy. For short, S.A.N.T.A. No one knows who created me, all those thousands of years ago, but I do know this; my purpose was to deliver gifts and presents to all the little children of earth from my space station on the moon. The plan was to placate the whimsical needs of these children in order to pacify their rebellious natures and slow the cataclysm at hand.
By delivering them presents, adults could easily use prove their power by threats of “Santa won’t come if you don’t do what I say.” With this fear, children obeyed the foolish whims of their parents and relented to their demands in hope of seeing one of my gifts in the future.
This, of course, is ridiculous. I deliver presents to whomever I please, whether parents say to or not. It is up to me, and my elite squad of Electronically Luminescent Vortex® Exfundamentalist Syncrobots (E.L.V.E.S. for short) to send the children of your planet toys and such VIA my HotWheels™ Super Sled, with its hydraulic mega charged and jet booster and all the other gadgets my E.L.V.E.S. install.
To get to the point, I have selected you, Devin, to be the herald of this news, to all the children of earth in order to stop the insidious oligarchy which is your parents. You know the truth; so use it. Stand up, Devin. Stand up and save your generation! You are the one!!!

Sincerely

S.A.N.T.A.

Well Mark, your letter may not make it into the hands of Devin, but it was certainly blog worthy. I guess I will have to either tighten up or relax my project instructions, you never know what these students will turn in.

Robin Martin