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What I Want for Christmas (And Other Questions I’ll Never Answer Correctly) A Humorous Reflection on Simple Joys, Nonexistent Favorites, and Why People Keep Taking Notes Like I’m a Celebrity Witness

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Every Christmas season, someone inevitably corners me with a notepad, sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally, asking: “So… what do you want for Christmas?” The moment I casually mention I enjoy a good Christmas Ale, people write it down like it’s privileged intelligence from a classified briefing.  Why? Because apparently I have a reputation for being “private.” Mysterious. A man of enigma. (Their words, not mine.)  The truth is much less glamorous: I’m just simple. Genuinely, uncomplicatedly, unapologetically simple.

Let’s clear this up: I don’t have a favorite food, drink, dessert, brand, gadget, or streaming show. But more importantly, I don’t have favorite children either. Not my own. Not the thousands upon thousands I’ve served over the years. Not even the grandchildren.

Do you know how many people ask, “Okay, but who is your real favorite?” Like I’m supposed to have a winner’s podium, complete with medals, confetti, and an annual banquet? Please. You want to know my favorite kid? The one who didn’t set anything on fire that week. You want to know my favorite grandchild? The one who didn’t rat me out to their parents.

Truth is: I loved the vast majority of the tens of thousands who passed through my life. And even the “handfuls of colorful yutes” (and there were quite a few!) taught me something. My mission was always the same: Care for them, guide them, and send them back into the world to be disciples. Pay it forward. Make the place a little better because they were here. A Hall of Fame? No way. More like a lifetime membership to one giant, chaotic, beautiful family.

At some point in every workplace, someone invents bonding exercises: Secret Kris Kringle. Advent Angels. Random Acts of Holiday Cheer. Festive Spirit Exchanges. Whatever the title, it always involved me getting pressured to write down “gift ideas.”

My response? “Peace on Earth.” Followed by, “Good Will Toward Men—and Women, too, because let’s not start a fight.” Did it irritate the coordinators? Without question. But here’s the kicker: Sometimes people actually listened. I’d get a donation in my name to Make-A-Wish or Cardinal Glennon Children’s Hospital.

And that was the best gift of all. Because it meant someone, at my gentle nudging (or stubborn refusal to play along), chose to be a better version of themselves. I was never prouder.

Why I Don't Give a Wishlist? People assume that because I don’t list favorites, I must be withholding vital intel. But the truth is: I like everything. New art supplies? Wonderful. A fancy pen? Terrific. A weird little gadget no one can identify? I will adopt it like a stray puppy.

It’s not that I’m low-maintenance.
It’s that I genuinely find joy in simple, small things.
I don’t need luxury to feel seen.
And I don’t need a curated personal brand to feel satisfied.

Plus, the second you declare a favorite, people cling to it like it’s your eternal identity. I have a crateful of SpongeBob SquarePants gizmos and dozens of bobbleheads to prove that point! You say ONE TIME, you enjoy peppermint bark, and suddenly you’re “The Peppermint Bark Guy” until the day you die.

What I Actually Want for Christmas?  Honestly? Something small. Something thoughtful. Something human. A gesture. A note. A laugh. A moment. A new paintbrush. A cool pen. A Christmas Ale (but for the love of Rudolph, please don’t start keeping spreadsheets). Or just someone choosing kindness because of something I said years ago.

I don’t need to keep up with the Joneses. Half the time, the Joneses don’t even like the stuff they’re buying.

I’ll take the simple things, the heartfelt things, over anything else every single time. Because in a world obsessed with rankings, wishlists, and labels, I’d rather just stay grateful. Grateful for the surprises.  Grateful for the gestures.  Thankful for the people who show up.

And every now and then, I’ll still ask for “Peace on Earth.” I know we’re not there yet… But it’s Christmas, and it’s nice to dream.

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