The Wobbly Elf Shoes

A Merry Xmas Story for the Holidaze.

In the holiday spirit of gratitude and individual transformation, I’m going to tell you a personal Christmas story I’ve never told anyone before.

When I was a little boy my mom bought me a pair of wobbly elf shoes to wear at Christmas — you know the kind: lush, green, crushed velvet uppers, laced with fancy red ribbon, the long pointy toes curling upward and inward, tipped with a dangling shiny gold bell that tinkles when you walk.

​My mom made me wear my wobbly elf shoes, everywhere — at home, the supermarket, playing with my friends, even at school. And, well, you know how cruel kids can be, I was teased incessantly. “Hey, look at Jackson with his wobbly elf shoes!” They branded with mean, hurtful, nicknames like “elf boy,” “tinkle toes,” and “Santa’s bitch.”

The only thing that kept me going, was knowing that the Xmas would soon be over. But my mom thought I looked so cute in those wobbly elf shoes that even after the 25th of December came and went, she made me wear those wobbly elf shoes all year long.

One April day at school during recess while I struggled to play kickball in my wobbly elf shoes, the school bully put me in his sights — this time more viciously than ever before. No restraint. No mercy.

As his attack on me continued, all the other kids gathered around and joined in on my persecution. Egged on by the sadistic mob to escalate, the bully fired off and punched me right in the nose. Pain shot through my brain. I looked down at my wobbly elf shoes. They had red polka dots on them. It was my blood.

At that very moment, something possessed me, the lust for righteous vengeance. I stood tall and looked the bully square in his beady eyes. He stared back. Forever passed. And then… the bully blinked. I had that sonuvabitch. When those beady eyes of his opened again, he saw me in a totally different light.

He backed off knowing something inside me had snapped. I would never again be tormented for my wobbly elf shoes. I made my move. I looked to the crowd, immediately sussed out the weakest kid, and went to work on her.

I took a life on the playground that day.

Now, I suppose there are those who would try and argue that killing a skinny asthmatic girl with a lazy eye is “wrong.” But that was the last day that bully, or anyone else, disrespected me or my wobbly elf shoes.

We teach others how to treat us — and murder is one helluva lesson plan.

Lesson learnt: Don’t take no shit offa nobody during the holiday season.

MKJ