Reprinted from the Dec. 25, 1926, issue of the Minneapolis Star.
The only trouble with Christmas is, it does not last long enough.
Thus the small boy points out the only fly he can see in all the glorious Yuletide ointment.
How long would he want it to last? Why, exactly 365 days out of the year and then this old world of ours would certainly be a grand place in which to dwell.
Every day would find stockings well filled with candy and toys and other gifts. Every day would present a bounteous table on which the piece de resistance would be that immortal bird, the turkey, done to a nicety and flanked and stuffed with dressing, to say nothing of all the other "trimmings."
What a great life it would be — for a little while. And then, of course, Christmas would be commonplace. The toys, the sweetmeats, even the practical gifts — everything would become commonplace. And the day would be as dreary and matter-of-fact as any of the other three hundred and sixty-four which precede and follow it.
But the youngster has not learned enough of philosophy to understand that. He sees Christmas from the material side entirely.
It probably will be many years before he appreciates the fact that the material things upon which we rivet such fixed attention are, after all, of relative smaller importance in life than the spiritual things.
