With training your mind will become completely focused, just as your parents always encouraged.

Others will try to break your concentration. Teachers will drone on and on about Egyptians, Greeks and Romans, photosynthesis and sentence structure. Ignore those Scrooges and Grinches. You have more pressing concerns. Compose your Christmas list during class. Draw snowflakes in the shape of your favorite South Park characters.

You will need to give the performance of your life. Those formally known as "Mom" and "Dad" should now be thought of solely as links in the chain between you and your presents. Fortunately, most parents can only handle up to one month of holiday memory in their brains. January through November was your free reign of tantrum and insubordination. For the month of December, do the dishes without being asked. Cut down on the eye rolling. Bring home an "A" on a test even if you need to "borrow" one from a friend. Allow your parents to use the phone. Clear out your closet and tell your mom that you have three big bags of clothes to give to the "underprivileged." Your sacrifices are sure to be rewarded through a growing stack of presents under the tree.

Pretend that you still believe in Santa Claus, even if you are fourteen and believe in nothing.  Remember the year that your older brother started
asking too many questions about Santa's existence and his present allotment took a nosedive? Learn from his mistakes. Here's the formula you
never learned in math class: A feigned belief in Santa + the manipulation of your parents = more presents. Say to yourself three times: Believing is
Receiving. Believing is Receiving. Believing is…

At school, momentarily pause from your snowflake drawings. Ask your math teacher how to divide your eighteen dollars and thirty-three cents among the twelve people on your Christmas gift list. She'll tell you, rather sternly, that these numbers won't divide evenly, that there will be a remainder. Spend the remainder of the period crossing off the names of friends on your list who have betrayed you or you think will someday betray you, those pubescent Benedict Arnolds.

Shorten your list to six semi-finalists and go back to your drawings.

Now you are ready to tackle your shopping. First you must buy for the hands that feed you. For your mom, go straight to the figurines. Glass
angels or wooden elves are fine choices. When she opens her presents, be sure to tell her the exact cost, especially if you spent less than three dollars. She will commend your thriftiness. Your dad will always appreciate another tie. Choose the one with the most color combinations and patterns you can find.

Stay up as late as possible on Christmas Eve. Eat the milk and cookies left out for Santa as a midnight snack. Rationalize that even if he did exist, he could stand to lose a few pounds.

On Christmas morning, wake up at 5 am from your nightmare of stockings filled with coal. Jump up and down on your parent's bed yelling, "I can't
believe that Santa got me a PONY!!!" Watch alarm spread through their faces then say, "GOTCHA! TIME TO WAKE UP! IT'S CHRISTMAS!"

Begin ripping open your presents. Stop every once in awhile to compare your siblings' gifts to your own. Say, just loud enough for your sister to hear, "I guess word never got to the North Pole about your little shop-lifting incident." Rub the spot on your side where she pinches you. Continue unwrapping presents. Grunt approval at all the video games, force a smile at Grandma's handmade sweater. Look under the tree and say, "Are you sure that's everything?" Ignore the dirty look your father gives you. Play with your toys for a few minutes before you box them up for eternity. Call everyone you know and say, "Isn't it great being on vacation?" Tease the dog submerged in giftribbon. Feel the post-Christmas letdown. Start the countdown until your birthday.
 

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