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Chapter 1
     
    AN OLD FASHIONED KIND OF GUY
     
    I talk to The Missus until my tongue
collapses from exhaustion. I explain every way I can that I’m just
an old fashioned kind of guy. And what does it get me? A
computer.
    I tell her that I’m not into tockniligy or
takquoligy or whatever it is.
    “It’s technology,” she informs me. “And you
should be because kids certainly are.” Then she stamps her foot and
gives me THE LOOK.
    We’d been going round and round like that for
three weeks. That’s when she brought that blasted thing home and
set it on my desk. I ignored it the whole first week. Pretended it
wasn’t there. Didn’t even exist. I thought maybe she would take the
hint.
    Huh! I should have known it would have the
opposite effect. The more I ignored it, the more determined she was
that I’d fire it up. “I’ll fire it up,” I grumped under my breath.
“In the fireplace.” But I didn’t say it loud enough for her to
hear.
    The next week she started in on me again.
“Just think of all the e-mails from good boys and girls all over
the world that are in your computer waiting to be read,” she would
say. Then she would dab a tear away as if she felt terrible.
“Aren’t you ashamed? They’re telling you all the things they
want--things they deserve for being so good--and you’re not even
listening.”
    I couldn’t look her in the eye after she said
that. To tell you the truth, I am a little ashamed that I’m not
mechanical. Can’t even operate a can opener. I’ve always been good
with my hands, though. I love to make toys and things. And I won’t
kid you that I’m the best magician around. How many magicians do
you know who could load all those toys into one little sleigh at
sundown and get them delivered all over the world before the sun
comes up the next morning.
    That’s not good enough for her. No, Siree!
She’s a modern woman! Up with the times! Or so she says.
    But this week she’s really getting to me.
She’s on a hunger strike. Oh, she doesn’t call it that. She says
she’s just too sad thinking about all those poor children to eat a
bite. And, of course, according to her, if she’s too sad to eat,
she certainly is too sad to cook. Do you have any idea what that
means to a big guy like me? Starvation.
    Well, I’ll have to admit, I was stumped this
time. I couldn’t last a single day without a meal. I started
thinking about her golden crispy fried chicken. Her tender juicy
roast beef. Her flaky mouth-watering cherry pies. Then I started
thinking about turning on the computer. When she wasn’t looking.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as it looked.
    I stood in the middle of my comfortable old
office and looked around. Its desk was overflowing with papers. Its
leather chair was deep and soft. Model toys crowded the mantle
above the fireplace. Then I looked at the one thing in the whole
room that was out of place. The shiny metal monster sitting among
the familiar clutter on my desk. The computer.
    I couldn’t help but shiver. The screen stared
back at me like a big accusing eye. If I didn’t turn it on pretty
soon, The Missus would kill me. She was already pointing to the
calendar. I know it’s October already, and if I don’t find out what
boys and girls want for Christmas pretty soon, I won’t have time to
get all the toys made.
    The coast was clear. The Missus was out in
the yard with the elves making snow angels. The reindeer were in
the pasture practicing take-offs and landings. It was now or
never.
    I tiptoed over to my desk, sort of like I was
sneaking up on that metal monster. I dropped slowly into my big old
leather chair. Then I scooched around on the seat until it felt
right. I wanted everything to be as near to perfect as it could
be.
    “Probably won’t even be able to turn it on,”
I muttered hopefully.
    Then I spied the button right above the
keyboard. Beside it were the words POWER on/off. So much for not
being able to turn it on.
    I poked the button and