Dear Santa,

There is a problem we need to address. It should be at the top of your list this year, really.

It should go: my problem, check names twice, feed reindeer.

So, here it is. Picture me in my prime, a child on her fifth birthday. I show up to Kindergarten, and everyone naturally asks me what presents I received. 

“None,” I tell them, for I received no presents. 

The reason for this giftless existence, you might ask? 

It’s you, Santa. You are the reason. My parents told me, “It’s November! Wait for Santa to bring your gifts.”

And so, I waited. And waited. The holidays couldn’t come soon enough. 

Finally, I received my presents, which were of the same quality and quantity as anyone’s holiday gift — the presumed birthday benefit was nowhere to be found.

That tragic anecdote brings me to this very moment. 

I am seventeen years old, struggling as any teeenager might. 

But, I carry with me an added struggle due to my birth month-related trauma.

Besides, November and December babies already have to go through enough with being either way older or way younger than everyone else. 

I won’t turn eighteen until second quarter of my freshman year in college, so dropping out of high school isn’t a legal option for me, nor will I ever be able to sign myself out. 

Our birthdays fall on the shortest days of the year: we wake up in darkness, and our birthday parties have been limited to the brief daylight hours between noon and 4PM.

To make matters worse, teachers tend to wrap up units in the weeks before break, piling on intense amounts of homework, leaving us Scorpios and Sagittarii struggling on our once-a-year days. 

Break is tangible, yet still painfully out of reach, as if going to school on your birthday wasn’t bad enough.

But, it all comes down to the presents. Imagine where I’d be right now if I were raised on twice the presents. 

Imagine if, at five, I’d gotten not only Barbie’s Malibu Dream House in December, but, also, a new and rare Webkinz in November. I’d be thriving. 

I’d probably have graduated early and be off running a country somewhere, all because of that extra toy a year. 

So, Santa, it’s all your fault. Well, to be fair, when I say it’s “your” fault, I don’t truly mean “your” fault, because I’m Jewish. 

Instead, I’m referring to the flawed system you represent: the system which robs little girls of their rare Webkinz.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Citizen