"I said he’s not real."

"Yes he is. Mr. Jones!"

"Now, now boys. You know this isn’t how you should behave. What’s wrong?"

"Danny says there no such thing as Santa Claus!"

"Danny is that true? Did you tell Jimmy that Santa Claus doesn’t exist?"

Danny hesitated. "Yeah, I said it."

"Make him stay here instead of going on the field trip."

"I don’t think that will be necessary, Jimmy." The substitute teacher paused. "But I’ll tell you this: There IS no such thing as Santa Claus. I thought everybody knew that."

"You’re wrong. There is a Santa. I write to him every year."

"I’m afraid not Jimmy," Mr. Jones was setting him straight. "You just send your letters to some dump for recycling paper. No one reads them, because it’s illegal. Santa’s just a joke adults made up to make children look stupid."

Jimmy then looked at Mr. Jones with a felonious flash of anger. His piercing eyes were boiling the ocean blue in his eyes. His tears could’ve been steamed away. His pale white face was now red hot. He bit his lip and was numb to the pain.

"You’re lying!" This was a venomous anger. Upon hearing this, the usual everyday bicker of this kindergarten class came to a lull.

Mr. Jones looked down at Jimmy and smiled. "Sure, Jimmy. Of course he is. Have you ever seen him?"

"At the mall."

"That’s a drunk. Santa’s not a drunk, is he?"

"No."

"Then have you seen him?"

"No."

"Talked to him?’

"No."

"Has he written you back?"

"No."

"Then he’s not real."

"Yes he is!"

"How so?"

"You don’t need to see him. He’s invisible but he can still see you."

"You just described God."

"So. It’s still the same difference."

"Okay, Jimmy, why don’t you just go to that corner and think about it."

Jimmy got up from the floor sitting group and drudged over to the corner.

"Uh-oh, Jimmy, I almost forgot something. You need your dunce cap.. Mr. Jones got up from his throne and went over to his desk to retrieve a hat not unlike Santa Claus’. After he got it, he placed it on Jimmy’s head who wore an expression of shame as well. Oddly enough, no kids laughed at Jimmy’s predicament. All except Danny, who giggled like the deranged little school boy that he was.

"Listen up, Jimmy. You’ll sit here until it is time for you to go on your field trip. So, just shut up until then and everything will be okay."

"Now kids," Mr. Jones said as he sat down in front of the kids, "we’ve got fifteen minutes before it’s time for you to go. Why don’t go around and see what we all want for Christmas."

Danny was the first to respond. Haughtily, he said, "I’m going to get a brand new bicycle… without training wheels."

"Good," said the substitute without the slightest bit of interest. "How about you in the red?"

The children all looked around to see who it was that had to go next.. First, they checked themselves. Next, their neighbors. The girl in the red sweater had to be reminded of what she had decided to wear.

"I want a pony."

"Get real. Nobody asks for ponies anymore. Ask for stocks and bonds. Only spoiled brats get ponies and you don’t look you’ve ever been spoiled a day in your life."

It went on like this for minutes until it was time for the children to leave the classroom for their fieldtrip. He would single out a student with a defining characteristic. The children would attempt to find that person. The lucky child would then rant off a Christmas list with Mr. Jones at the ready as he shot all the lists full of logistics. By departure time, only ten kids had had their chance to go. And of that group: three were crying, two were yelling, one was quietly muttering obscenities, and the rest were suffering in dead, self-imposed silence. Maybe it was a world record.

* * *

Later on that day, Mr. Jones decided to take a walk before the kids could return from the field trip. It was too late. He had caught a glimpse of the bus making its way towards the school entrance. It was time for him gather up his students.

When he got to the designated waiting area, it looked like his entire class was already lined up and waiting. They were quick. "Is everybody here?"

"Yes!" the children yelled in unison.

"Okay. Let’s go." And the children followed him.

Along the way back to the classroom, the children played with objects in their pockets. Objects small enough to almost fit into their little hands. Souvenirs perhaps?

When they returned to the class, the children returned to their places on the floor and Mr. Jones to his chair.

"How was your trip to Putt-Putt class?"

There was a slight bit of excitement as the children rejoiced in the joy brought by their field trip. Mr. Jones just took it all in until suddenly, he realized.

"Where’s Danny?"

There was a murmur of innocent sounding "I don’t know"s.

"Did he ride the bus back?"

"I think so, Mr. Jones!" That was Jimmy with the loud, but not piercing scream.

"Well, you kids stay put. I’m going to go check up front for him."

He got up from his chair and dashed to the door. Before he could reach for the knob, something held him back.

"Mr. Jones." It was the girl in the red sweater.

"Yes," Mr. Jones said as he turned around to an army of dented white balls. "What’s this all about?" He wasn’t scared because he didn’t know where this was all headed.

All of a sudden, Mr. Jones backed into the closed door as a deluge of golf balls rained against his body. Since the children were lined up only four feet away, it was possible for them to get a good hit off of his body. For the most part, the hits landed on his chest and stomach. A couple got the legs and one nailed him in the face. Overall he was hit fifty-seven times by thirty-five golf balls. He was bruised many times over.