Ask any little girl on Christmas Eve whether she’s been bad or good, and she’ll tell you she’s been good. Ask any little boy if he deserves to get presents or coal, and he’ll say presents every time. Maybe she wants a new doll. Maybe he wants a new bike. Maybe she’s been extra good helping her daddy rake leaves. Maybe he’s been extra careful to stay out from under his mother’s feet while she’s baking. Maybe they’ll leave cookies for Santa, or carrots for his reindeer. Maybe they’ll dream of toys or games or other delights if they can get to sleep at all. But always, always, always they know that on Christmas morning they’ll find nothing but fun and excitement.

Then again, if every little boy and girl were good, why would Santa even need a list of naughty children? What about the teasers, and the bullies, and the loafers, and the brats? What about the victims, the lonely, and the neglected ones? Do they know that they’ve been bad? What do they dream of? No child expects coal and switches on Christmas morning. Ever.

Tim did, though, as he lay in his bed. It was Christmas Eve. His brother slept quietly in the bunk below him, knowing with utter certainty that his new PlayStation would be under the tree in the morning. After all, that’s what he had asked Santa for at the mall, and all he’d talked about for two months, especially after his report card came back full of A’s and B’s. Though he would be happy with anything on the lengthy list of requests… the remote controlled car, the new bicycle, the video games for the PlayStation he didn’t have quite yet… Joey had a feeling that Santa would come through for him. After all, he already had what his brother wanted.

Tim sighed and put his hands behind his head. His eyes wouldn’t cooperate with him. Every twinkle of every light on the tree downstairs made its way past his eyelids. The sound of snowflakes hitting the roof was audible. Soft scents of candles and pine and cinnamon cookies found their way to his nose and forced themselves violently into his head. After a few minutes of pretending that he could still force himself to fall asleep he slid off the bed quietly so as not to wake his brother and padded downstairs to the living room.

After the cold of the rest of the house the living room was warm and welcoming. He shut the sliding doors and sat on the big chair near the hearth where the remains of a fire valiantly glowed. Wordlessly he watched the embers fade and die. He pulled his mother’s quilt around him and turned toward the sparkling tree.

It sat, and twinkled at him. On and off, on and off, on and off, on and off. It only took about a minute before he pulled his eyes down to the pile of presents underneath the tree. He fought the urge to go examine them all looking for ones with his name on them. No, no there wouldn’t be that many. Christmas wasn’t like it used to be when he was Joey’s age. It was all lights and food and music and fun and everything else that the best day of the year should be. But things were different now that he was in eighth grade. Now his parents gave him clothes, and things for school, and money. They didn’t understand the music he liked, didn’t know which video games he played, didn’t realize that most of the time they thought he was studying, he was instead wallowing in self-doubt and pity.

He sighed again. Of course they didn’t… how would they know? How could they. He didn’t tell them he was unhappy. He didn’t have to hear it to know they weren’t proud of him. It never took a word for him to be certain that he had been a disappointment for as long as he could remember. Joey made better grades than he ever had, of course. Joey had gone out for sports, and spelling bees, and martial arts, and never got into arguments or fights or got suspended for punching a bully. Joey had never tried to run away from home out of sheer embarrassment. Joey was always good. He was naturally his parents’ favorite, and why not? Joey had no reason to hide from them. Joey didn’t wear diapers.

His parents didn’t know, of course. Tim was no fool. He had always been careful not to get caught. Not even his brother, sharing the same room, had any idea. Tim was certain. He had become very good at hiding after so many years; shame, embarrassment and worry were good teachers but not good company. Still they were infinately preferable to the reactions of his parents if they ever found out their older son liked to wear diapers and pretend to be a baby. Babies were adored. Babies were cared for. Babies were loved, just like his brother. His parents wouldn’t understand, they couldn’t understand… and they couldn’t love him, not like they loved Joey.

But he wanted them to! He wanted them to be proud of him, to smile at him, to know who he was and to love him anyway. He just… knew they couldn’t, that was all. If they knew him, they wouldn’t love him… and since they didn’t know him, they couldn’t love him.