The holiday season brings many people joy, fun times with good friends and credit card bills so huge you will
finish that cheap wine your brother got you while weeping silently and gorging on leftover Christmas cookies. But this time of year always puts me on edge. It's time for the mutant reindeer, Rudolph.
People think I'm sick for not liking Rudolph. Sick? Hey, I'm not the one with the red nose here, buddy. Hasn't anyone else ever wondered what caused that? Maybe Rudolph suffered exposure to radiation and I should be a little more sympathetic. Or maybe that glowing red nose is a sign he is one of the devil's minions here to steal my soul. I'm not willing to take that chance.
But his appearance isn't what turns me off of Rudolph. No, it is a deep-seated fear from many Christmases past.
Put yourself in my shoes. You're 2 years old and it's your first big Christmas. You unwrap your first gift and you see an adorable little Rudolph toy to hug and love forever. But wait, what's this? Oh joy of joys, there is a little switch to make him walk! In your trusting, naive, 2-year-old mind, this is quite
possibly the greatest thing ever.
Sadly, you got the defective reindeer whose eyes decided to glow red instead of its nose, one of its antlers fell off and it played Rudolph's little song over and over with terrifyingly bad sound quality. Not to mention that when it walks it will cut off any escape route you try to take. You throw a fit your parents will talk about for years to come.
This traumatizing toy led to my hatred of the red-nosed menace. Claymation may or may not have played a role - the loathing was already there when I saw the creepy TV movie for the first time. The rest of my family thought he was cute, but I only saw antlers sharp as spears, hooves that flatten children in a single stomp and the demonic red nose. To me, Rudolph was and is a killing machine.
I would spend at least the next 12 Christmases throwing this horrifying toy down the stairs, hiding it deep within or behind the Christmas tree and even once trying to drown it - at 5, drowning a satanic toy seems like a very logical option. It just wouldn't die. Finally, when my brother was older, my mom stopped putting Rudolph out. But I had only won the battle, not the war.
Last Christmas, my cousin brought her own 2-year-old to our family Christmas. And there, to my horror, he was. Still missing an antler, but with black button eyes replacing his red ones, Rudolph sat near the stack of presents. I felt an icy chill shoot up my spine each time I met those cold, lifeless eyes.
I tried to tell my mom she was crazy. Couldn't she see history about to repeat itself? I didn't want Morgan to go through the same trauma I had. My mom told me I had been a weird kid. You can always feel the love around our house at Christmas time.
The fateful hour came. All the presents were opened and my mom decided to bring out Rudolph as a grand finale for Morgan. Morgan squealed when she saw it. I will admit, until you know he's possessed by the devil, he is a cute little guy.
Since the initial presentation went so well, my mom decided to turn the toy on. Morgan was caught off guard, but responded like a champ. She immediately sat on Rudolph, thinking it was some sort of riding toy. The legs broke off and the sound box was crushed. My 2-year-old heroine stared at the remains of her foe for a moment, then toddled away.
I broke into hysterical laughter and whisked the little wonder child up in my arms. My years of torment were finally over, thanks to my chubby savior!
If you have tips for destroying other demon toys Megan might have, e-mail her at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
