The Legend of Kid Santa

Posted: December 25, 2010 in Uncategorized

So, Merry Christmas everyone! Here, for your holiday entertainment is a gift to all my loyal readers… a glimpse at the first draft of The Legend of Kid Santa, a Christmas picture book (currently sans pictures).


by Douglass Barre


Some people love Christmas.

My dad loves Christmas Eve.

He also loves bacon.

But this story doesn’t start with bacon. It starts with cookies.

Mom had just finished cooking fresh chocolate chip cookies.

I took the cookies, still warm, and put them on a plate for Santa Claus.

“Don’t forget carrots for the reindeer,” my little sister said.

“Don’t forget cheese for Santa Mouse,” my brother said.

“Don’t forget porridge for the nisse,” my mom said. (Nisse are little fairies from Norway who bring good luck, my mom says.)

My dad was sitting in his armchair, reading a comic book.

“Don’t forget bacon for, um… Kid Santa,” he said.

My mom gave him a funny look.

“Who’s Kid Santa?” I asked.

“And why does he want bacon?” my sister asked.

My dad smiled his tricky smile.

“You don’t know who Kid Santa is?” he asked in his tricky voice.

“No,” we all said.

“He’s Santa’s sidekick,” my dad said.

“Who really likes bacon,” he added.

“Oh, and he’s a clone,” he finished.

“What’s a clone?” my brother asked.

“A genetic duplicate grown from a cell,” I answered.

“Very good,” my dad said, patting his lap. My sister got there first, so my brother and I sat on the arms of his chair.

“It happened the year that Santa was kidnapped by, um…”

My dad frowned a little, the way he did when mom asked him why he hadn’t done the dishes.

“Kidnapped by aliens,” he finally said.

“Aliens from where?” my sister asked.

“Betelgeuse,” my dad said.

“Why did they kidnap him?” my brother asked.

My dad didn’t miss a beat. “Their ships run on body fat,” he said. “And nobody’s fatter than Santa Claus.”

“Did he escape?” I asked.

“Of course he did,” my dad said, “but not before they took cell samples of him and used them to grow a clone.”

“Was the clone fat?” my brother asked.

“No, sad to say, he wasn’t,” my dad continued. “Because they didn’t know what to feed the clone to make him fat.”

“I bet I know!” my sister shouted, waving her hand like she was in school.

“I bet you do too,” my dad said, and kissed her on the forehead. “But the aliens didn’t, so they abandoned him on a far away moon.”

“Is than when Santa found him?” I asked.

“No, that was when the cannibals found him,” Dad said.

“What’s a cannibal?” my sister asked.

“They’re people who eat other people!” my brother cried excitedly.

“Is this story really child appropriate?” my mom asked.

Dad ignored her.

“After Kid Santa taught the moon cannibals to stop eating each other, they introduced him to bacon.”

“When did he meet Santa?” my brother asked.

“That happened when Santa crashed into the moon back in 1968, the year before Neil Armstrong landed there.”

“Santa’s sleigh had hit a UFO and its right skid broke completely off and it fell into Mare Tranquillitatis… so you know what Kid Santa did?”

“Ate bacon?” my mom asked.

“No!” my dad said, his arms spreading exuberantly. “He took the piece of bacon he was e–uh, he had with him, and he streeeeeetched it out long and flat… then he curved the end, nailed it on to the sleigh and used it as a skid for the rest of the flight! Kid Santa saved Christmas!”


“Did he eat the bacon afterwards?” my mom asked.

“Um,” my dad answered. “Sure.”

“So Santa was so impressed he adopted Kid Santa as his ward and the two went back to the North Pole. Now he travels every year on Santa’s journey and good boys and girls leave bacon out for him.”

“I’m good,” I said.

“How can he eat that much bacon without exploding?” my brother asked.

“I did mention he was a wizard, right?” My dad asked. “He went to that wizard school.”

“Cool!” I cried.

“Is he married to a princess?” my sister asked.

“Three of them,” my dad said. “They’re triplets. They cook him his favorite breakfast every morning because he rescued them from Tarantusaurus Rex, half dinosaur, half spider.”

“Kid Santa is awesome!” my brother screamed.

My dad smiled at my mom.

In her exasperated voice my mom said, “I’ll put on the bacon.”

The next morning, we woke up early.

“We’ll go down when everyone is ready,” Dad said.

He started to shave.

“Daaaaad,” we whined.

He brushed his teeth. He even flossed.

Finally, seventy-nine hours later, he was done and we ran downstairs.

There, on the table, was the plate.

There was a bite out of the cookie.

There was a bite out of the carrot.

There was a bite out of the cheese.

There was a bite out of the porridge.

The bacon was gone.

“Kid Santa was here!” my brother yelled.

“You kids know there’s a tree full of presents over there,” my mom pointed out.

“Kid Santa was here!” my sister and I yelled.

My mom rolled her eyes.

“He sure was,” my dad said in his tricky voice, and he sat down in his armchair.

(The Legend of Kid Santa is (c) copyright 2010 by Douglass Barre.)


Happy holidays, everyone! Back to self-improvement January 1st!


Next: A long winter’s nap.

  1. Kelli says:

    LOVE IT DOUG!! When’ll it be published, my kids would love it and my “Kid Santa” could really go for some bacon in lieu of cookies 😉

    • blackflak says:

      Well, sadly the answer is “as soon as I edit it, convince a publisher to buy it, find an artist, get the art done… and then, apparently, two years after that for no particular reason.” Or so my understanding of the children’s book publishing world tells me.

  2. Josh says:

    Kid Santa is AWESOME!

  3. Jennifer says:

    Now that is one cool dad! And one cool story 🙂

  4. That is fantastic! We couldn’t decide what to eat for breakfast the morning after Christmas, so I read this to my family. Needless to say, we chose bacon for breakfast. Thanks Kid Santa! Fingers and toes crossed that you find all that you need to get this published and fast. The world needs more children’s books that ask “Is this story really child appropriate?” (Or, well, maybe it just needs one!)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s