Originally published 25 December 2001
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse,
Little Susie asleep with her dollies galore,
And a dozen stuffed animals strewn on the floor.
Little Timmy a‑dreaming midst all his toys,
The pop guns and soldiers so favored by boys.
Mama and Papa are sprawled on their bed,
Snoring away with the sleep of the dead;
They have hung all the stockings and stuffed them with sweets,
And apples, and oranges, and other nice treats;
The tree is bedecked with cookies and streamers
Of popcorn and cranberries; our houseful of dreamers
Have visions of sugarplums, warm pairs of mittens,
Story books, lollipops, maybe some kittens.
For this, after all, is what Christmastime means;
If you doubt me just look at those heart-jerking scenes,
On greeting cards, calendars, store windows too,
of “up to the housetop the coursers they flew…“
Whoa, Dasher! Whoa, Dancer! Whoa, Comet and Cupid!
Lollipops? Candy canes? Kids are not stupid.
They know what they want from the Jolly Old Elf,
And they’ve seen it stacked high on the Toys-R-Us shelf.
Not a rooty-toot-toot or a rummy-tum-tum,
But a beep, chirp, and click, with a whirr and a hum.
They want i‑Cybie dog, the new robot from Tiger
With sixteen servomotors (the moves of Mick Jagger);
It barks, and it wets, with computers replete,
You can teach it to sit and chase cars in the street;
So forget the live kittens. But, Santa, a sackful
Of cellular phones would be thoughtful and tactful,
In lollipop colors. If visions of anything
Dance in their heads, it is hearing their phones ring;
No more passing notes in the back of the class,
Today’s kids use cellphones when making a pass.
And speaking of homework: When packing the sleigh
Make sure to remember the games children play
With their GameCubes and Xboxes. Stickball and tag
Are as passe as candy canes; capture-the-flag
Has surrendered to laser guns — virtual, not real;
In their faux Mortal Kombat, kids go for the kill.
And let’s not forget our good friend Britney Spears,
The iPod from Apple is a feast for the ears;
“1000 songs in your pocket,” the kids will go wild
For this microchip marvel that is destiny’s child.
Britney, and N’Sync, and the Backstreet Boys:
Five rousing gigabytes of Christmas-morn noise.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So pop guns and dolls yield to beeps, clicks and blips
And a childhood made virtual by Pentium chips.
So throw all those analog toys on the fire
And under the tree pile the eToys higher.
No sugarplum dreams; the kids will all fidget till
Cyber Claus comes with a sleighful of digital.
