Dear Mr. Hawkins,
First, I want you to know that I think you’re one of the funniest guys I don’t know and I don’t know a lot of funny guys. I was excited to hear that you’ll be coming to my church for a comedy concert this weekend. It has always been a dream of mine to hear you sing “Chick-Fil-A” in person. Well, that’s not exactly true, but I am looking forward to it. For some reason, my husband is especially hoping you’ll sing “Things You Don’t Say to Your Wife“. I’m sure a great time will be had by all when you’re here.
However comma Mr. Hawkins comma all is not sunshine and Christmas puppies between you and me. You see, Sunday night at our church’s Christmas program, my family saw an advertisement about your upcoming show. Specifically, we saw this video:
Do you know Bing Crosby, Mr. Hawkins? I’m guessing you don’t since he’s dead, but I’m sure you’re familiar with his work. He really knew his way around a Christmas song, didn’t he? “Mele Kalikimaka,” “White Christmas,” “Adeste Fidelis” (That’s Latin for “O Come All Ye Faithful,” but I guess you knew that since you speak Latin, being from “a homeschool family” like you are.)–these are songs that I look forward to hearing every Christmas season. They just feel like home. And until yesterday afternoon, Mr. Hawkins, I always looked forward to hearing Bing Crosby sing “Do You Know What I Hear.”
But do you know what happened yesterday afternoon? Let me tell you. When we piled into the minivan and turned on the radio, Bing’s rendition of “Do You Hear” was playing. Thankfully, we’d missed the “tail as big as a kite” part, but do you know what happened right after Bing crooned, “Let us bring him silver and gold”? As if they had practiced and in perfect unison, my three children called out, “How ’bout a blanket?! How ’bout some soup?! The child’s shivering in the COLD!” My oldest son even threw in the “throw some gold on him; he’ll be fine; Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” line for good measure. At that moment a little Christmas magic died right there in that Honda Odyssey. It was just like when Frosty melted into a puddle after the magician took his hat away. I felt like Rudolph must have felt when he was not invited to participate in the reindeer games. (Are you crying yet?)
So, thank you, Mr. Hawkins, for ruining that Christmas classic for my family forever. From now on, whenever we hear “Do You Hear What I Hear,” we will be thinking of you. I certainly hope you’re proud of yourself. It’s almost enough to make me want to hear that “hippopotamus for Christmas” song instead. I said almost.
With great sadness and an overwhelming sense of loss,
Whimzie, Mother of Three
P.S. Please be sure to do the “Do You Hear” bit when you come this weekend so that song will be ruined for all the other families, too.
