Rudolph the Red-Nosed Quitter

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer hitched a ride on the Northern Lights, landing gracefully in Virginia City, a mini-vacation.

As I left the Tahoe House headed for the Union Brewery on Christmas Eve, I saw him perched on a snow-dusted bench, gazing up at the twinkling stars that adorned the Nevada sky. Despite the festive decorations and the joyous shouts echoing through the streets, I could see Rudolph was feeling melancholy.

Rudolph’s famous red nose, which usually beamed brightly like a beacon of holiday cheer, now cast a soft glow on the board. He sighed, sending puffs of frosty air into the cold night.

“Hey, Rudy the Red, what’s bothering you?” I asked.

“It all began when I overheard a conversation between two giggling kids in the Canvas Cafe,” Rudy explained. “A seven-year-old boy, sipping hot cocoa and nibbling gingerbread cookies, shared a profound revelation with his friend.”

Rudy grew silent, and I had to encourage him to continue.

“The little sh…boy whispered to the other, “You know, Santa sees everything. He knows if you’ve been bad or good.”

Again, with the silence.

I probed further, “Yeah and so?”

“Well, it hit me,” Rudy said. “Santa knew the whole time the other reindeer were bullying me and wouldn’t let me play in their games.”

“I can empathize with you, Rudy,” I said. “And I must admit it does suck.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve decided to quit the team.”

“Don’t cut your nose off to spite your face,” I said. “If Santa knew, there must have been a reason he let it happen.”

“Like what?” he growled.

“You know the Big Guy believed in the power of kindness and resilience,” I said. “Your unique light shines brightest when faced with adversity. And remember, the most beautiful stars often emerge in the darkest skies.”

“Sound like a bunch of blah, blah, blah,” Rudy responded.

“Maybe, but what about the children who know your story and think you’re a hero for overcoming your red-nose and now lead the same reindeer every Christmas?” I asked.

“I don’t care anymore,” Rudy answered.

“Well, okay, if there is anything I can do to help you, let me know,” I said.

He said nothing as I turned and walked away.

A few feet down the boardwalk, I started catter-walling a made-up song, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Quitter, Gave up because he got his feelings hurt, All he wanted to was to feel sorry and bitter, be a little pansy and wear a little skirt…”

“Screw you, Tom! All you’re getting is coal — I might even crap down your chimney for good measure,” he shouted as he jumped the tail end of the Northern Lights back to the North Pole.

“Merry Christmas, Rudy,” I smiled.