(Dave Pickell Dec. 2004)
 

The north pole was silent, snow covered the ground

It drifted like feathers and piled up around

The pillars and turrets of Santa’s estate

The month was October, the hour was late.

No workshop gave voice to a clang or a buzz

And this was — I’m sure you are asking - because

The annual toy-making hadn’t begun.

(The elves don’t start working ‘til November 1

And this tale begins on the night just before

That time-honoured date when the elves start their chore.)
 

A huge fire was blazing inside the great hall;

The elves were all seated, chairs spread wall to wall.

Their sharp eyes were focused, their ears all a-quiver

As Santa himself started in to deliver

His annual talk on the "HUMAN CONDITION".

‘Cause Santa, you know, makes it part of his mission

To study, observe, then improve - if he can -

The lot of that contrary species called "man".

(Please do not react with a genderist mind —

The term is generic — it means either kind.)

The lecture each year was a formal device

To show if mankind had been ‘naughty’ or ‘nice’.

With slide after slide, Santa’s lecture progressed

And fact built on fact — I need hardly suggest

His research was sound, as he set out to show

That mankind — for ‘niceness’ - was scoring quite low.
 

"I love them to death, I need hardly remind

You all that I’m CRAZY about humankind —

But what I’ve observed puts my mind in a funk -

The ‘kindness’ of humankind seems to have shrunk.

At times in the past one could honestly say,

Each person (on average) was kind twice a day.

But lately our numbers show trends sadly bleak

Some people are kind only twice in a week.

"Look: here’s an example which amply provides

The proof of these numbers — just look at these slides:"
 

The elves fixed their gaze as the slide-tray clicked round;

Each shot was a scene of a sidewalk downtown

In cities as varied as Rome and Duluth

Which Santa had photographed, seeking the truth

If man’s inclination to kindness was dropping.

On each sidewalk shown, there were mobs going shopping:

Each sidewalk had also a vagrant or two,

Who hoped for a handout to help see them through —

But rarely a coin, be it ruble or euro

Dropped into their hands, to the wise elf’s great sorrow.

One scene drew a groan from the crowd as a man

With navy blue suit, leather briefcase in hand

A tie in maroon with a subtle grey fleck

Tied oh-so-fastidiously round his neck

Was aiming a kick at a kid with a sign

That read "if you’ve had lunch — please help me have mine".
 

Then Santa said "Sorry these scenes might offend

But I felt that I needed to show you this trend.

We’re trying to study what’s made humankind

Less generous. Trust me: I’m far from resigned

To thinking the issue cannot be addressed,

And once more we’ll see humankind at their best."
 

"The problem is simple: what factors are there

Which make human hearts more or less prone to care

For those of their number whose paths are ill-starred,

Whose burdens are heavy, whose lives have been hard?

One thinks of religion: its power once vast

Has shrunk from the stature it held in the past.

Is lack of religion the cause of the mess?

This theory can quickly be put to the test.
 

"Young Toby, step up please and share what you’ve found:"

A sprightly young elf took the stage with a bound

His forehead quite long and his head rather wide

To hold the huge brain that was lurking inside.

He spoke with a voice that was studied and clear

And told of the research he’d done that past year.
 

"To test out this theory we needed to find

A small group of humans without any kind

Of gods or of statutes religious in tone

Which would govern behaviour — ‘cause studies have shown

Religion can modify nature’s behest

And often, in humans, can bring out the best.
 

"We searched then we found a small tribe in Brazil,

Who had no religion. But we saw that STILL,

When one of their number feels Need’s chilly hand

The others gave all the support that they can!

So — with this experiment — we’ve ruled out that Gods

Were keeping mankind from becoming tightwads."
 

Then Santa returned to the rostrum. Said he:

"We then thought — it’s money! That might be the key.

The rich have grown richer, the middle class less

The poor grow in numbers that cause us distress.

Perhaps this condition — anomalously -

Has made those who HAVE, GIVE with less frequency.

Historian elves have been handed the task

Of trying to test this conclusion. I’ll ask

Alexxi and Meesha to rise and report!"

Then up came two elves, one quite tall - one quite short.
 

"Our goal was to find documents which described

Some culture where there was a massive divide

Between those who had and the ones who had less,

And see if the ‘haves’ had displayed some largesse.

An ancient North African culture we see

Quite close to where Egypt was destined to be

Where wealth was controlled by a tiny elite

Yet no-one complained there was nothing to eat.

The wealth was controlled, YES — controlled for the best,

Elites kept a tiny amount: then the rest

Was given in manner to cause the most good

For everyone living in each neighbourhood.

Division of wealth, then, cannot be the key

The cause of this hardness-of-heart we now see."
 

The meeting went on, many theories expounded,

But all — in the end — proved themselves quite unfounded.

‘Til, right at the end, Santa said "Now’s the time

To show you the theory that I’m most inclined

To think holds some hope for reversing the trend:

Walthissimus — come and take over, my friend!"
 

A squat little shape made its way to the front

In height, compared even to elves, quite a runt.

An eyeshade of green pulled down over its eyes,

And wearing a lab-coat of quite the wrong size,

It walked to the rostrum and started to speak

In a voice that was kind of a low, husky squeak.
 

"A new branch of science has started to show

Why human-folks act like they do. We all know

That Santa, last year, said ‘there MUST be a way

To study this thing that they call DNA —

The genes that determine the way men behave,

And guide every step between cradle and grave.

If one of you studied this, it would be good!’

I thought for a moment, then said that I would.

So I built a small lab in a room in my home

And took on the title of "Human Gene Gnome".
 

The research went well: first I needed to see

Exactly the number of genes there might be

The answer? Ten thousand, six-hundred and three.

Each one has a role in the way humans are:

And destiny, once thought to come from the stars,

Is written quite clearly in these tiny things —

Yes: people are puppets! And GENES are the strings.

Some people just stumble through life like they’re cursed!

What gene causes that? The nine-thousandth-and first.

Some people can act like they’re angels from heaven!

The gene? It’s five-thousand-three hundred and seven.

(We found out a gene makes us procrastinate

And makes Christmas poems show up two weeks late

It’s number? Nine thousand four hundred and eight!….)
 

"And the gene that determines how kind we will be

Is gene number six hundred seventy-three.
 

"I’ve taken a photo so you’ll get to see

The look of gene six hundred seventy-three.

It’s magnified ten thousand times — oh, and then,

It’s magnified ten thousand times once again!"
 

A picture flashed up on the screen. There it was!

A ripple of whispers! The room was a-buzz

Gene six-seven-three was an intriguing sight -

A spiral of pink alternating with white.

But looked somewhat shrunken, and skinny, and slight

Its colours anemic which should have been bright —

Even lay-elves could see something wasn’t quite right.

Walthissimus called out for silence, and spoke:

"This gene causes kindness in all humanfolk.

But so little kindness - as Santa explained -

Is left in the world, that we’ve now ascertained

The gene needs a boost. So we’ve searched for a way

To boost it: and NOW (I am happy to say)

Our tests and our trials have served up a clue

And I have discovered a thing we can do:
 
 

The substance that’s used so the reindeer can fly

Is fairy-dust that we collect on the sly.

When fairies are having their annual dance

It floats on the breeze - that’s when we have our chance

To catch some in bottles and seal it up tight.

(The fairies don’t miss it and so it’s alright.)

It kick-starts the reindeer as everyone’s seen -

I hoped that it maybe could kick-start this gene!…?
 
 

"We placed both the gene and some dust in a dish

And soon we discovered we’d GOTTEN OUR WISH!

I’ll show you a slide of the gene, fairy-dusted:

You’ll see for yourselves how it’s been readjusted."
 

Then ‘click’ went the slidetray and ‘gasp!’ went the crowd:

The gene, once anemic, stood solid and proud.

The colours leaped out, the white gleamed like a star,

The pink had turned red as a fire-chief’s car,

The size almost doubled from what it had been -

It was clear that the dusting had transformed the gene.

One radical change caused the elves’ jaws to drop:

It stood up so tall, that it curled at the top.

Most gene-shapes are linear, simple and plain,

But this one resembled a wee candy-cane.

The elves started clapping spontaneously

Walthissimus raised both his hands: "Wait!" said he:

"We needed more tests ‘cause we just HAD to know

If the gene, newly boosted, would make kindness grow

And if it could cause any bad side effect

The kind we would neither intend nor expect!….
 

"Computers were used, several models were made

To make sure the change could be safely okayed.

In every experiment we did, without fail,

The kindness of humans shot straight off the scale.

Genetics can now and then throw you a curve

But no oddities surfaced that we could observe.

Scenarios ran, probabilities scanned -

It all checked out perfect. So now we have planned

To spread through the world several tons of this dust

And let it achieve the effect we’ve discussed.
 

"We just need to brainstorm one item right now —

That item is this: it’s to figure out how

To make sure this dust will end up where it SHOULD —

Inside every human — and start doing good!"

The elves broke in groups — the brainstorming began

And Toby’s group quickly came up with a plan

The plan was inspired by the red and white look

Of the gene (newly dusted) which sported a crook:

The plan — the result of much storming of brains

Was putting the fairy-dust in CANDY CANES!
 

"We’ve recently started some brand-new designs,"

Said the head of the candy-cane makers. "The lines

Of the cane can be given a magical twist

It turns out that no living soul can resist.

That twist — I must say - caused production to stall

‘Cause my candy-cane makers kept eating them all!

But if we make more, I will tell you the truth:

They’re sure to attract the un-sweetest of tooth.

I’ll give my elves glasses designed to protect

Their eyes from the new canes’ relentless effect:

And see that they add just a few tiny grains

Of fairy-dust into each one of those canes!"
 

So that’s what was done: and it worked to a T.

The increase in kindness was something to see!

The spread of the canes was strategic and smart

The majority went to the hardest of heart.

A huge bag was dropped on the White House front lawn

In under a day and a half they were gone.

And suddenly, policies started to ease,

Especially the ones about wars overseas.
 

Returning to work, many big C E O’s

Found large bags of candy canes under their nose.

They’d hold all their calls, and postpone every meeting —

The reason? It’s simple. The canes they were eating!

And soon corporate greed was a thing of the past

They put people ahead of their profits at last!

In banks who’d been laying their customers low

With fees and large interest - the canes struck a blow:

And soon there took place an unheard-of event

A loan rate was posted at — zero percent!!!
 

Some rich New York lawyers ingested the dust

Then formed into groups and, with passion, discussed

How things can be ‘legal’ and still be unjust:

And how they felt bad getting rich on mistrust - -

They published a book when the talks were all done,

‘Cause now that their case-load is dropping to none,

(The cane-induced kindness is killing disputes) -

They hope that its royalties pay for their suits!

And speaking of suits, think back hard if you can

‘Way back to the top: you remember the man

With navy blue suit, leather briefcase in tow

Who was ready to kick that poor kid? You should know:

He’s one of those lawyers the canes have remade

If you call his office I’m greatly afraid

You’ll get his machine — ‘cause he’s out on the streets,

Ensuring all vagrants have hot meals to eat.

He still loves his suit and he dresses up well,

But something has changed — is it taste? Who can tell?

Now often his friends take some humorous swipes,

At his new tie with large, twisted, red and white stripes!
 
 

THE END

Merry Christmas 2004!