THE COOL KID'S GUIDE TO READING: A visit to St. Nick

Claus and I have a history. I was his wingman when he was spooking on Frosty's sister.

Those two. Goodness. Thumpety thump thump, thumpety thump thump. Here and there, even -- and I kid you not -- all around the square.

And Claus always had my back, especially in that rumble with George Bailey and his scruffy brother Harry.

So when my summer vacation coincided with a heat wave forecast, Mrs. Cool Kid and I headed to the North Pole to chill.

But first we went to the South Pole because -- and if you're married you'll understand this -- "turn left" means you should turn right and "I was just trying to help" means you should just let it drop.

But we finally made it.

The elf factories gear up that time of year, and one day Claus took us around to see some.

One in particular caught my eye. It had a high fence around it and a vault-looking door that was guarded by a pair of yeti.

"That's where our most extraordinary gifts are made," Claus said. "Submarines. Dragons. Mountains and forests. We make laughter there, talking dogs there. Tricycles. Homes. Planets. We make forgiveness there."

My puzzlement made him smile.

"Let me ask you a question, Cool Kid."

"OK."

"Suppose your grandmother lived in another galaxy and you wanted to take your chatty affenpinscher with you for a visit, but all you had was a trike with spokeless wheels. How would you accomplish that?"

He didn't wait for my answer. Wise, since I had none.

"You would take black lines, Cool Kid. Short, thin ones. You would contort those lines into a couple of dozen peculiar shapes."

Claus had found Dasher's still, I feared. But I kept listening.

"You would arrange those peculiar shapes in a row -- in a pattern that appears random, but actually is both logical and pre-agreed upon. You would make many, many rows. And stack them."

He paused. I looked at the fortress-like factory again. He continued.

"You would then impress an image of those rows upon a rectangle of slightly stiffened wood pulp."

He clapped me on the back.

"That's how you do it, Cool Kid. You make a bunch of those impressed rectangles, and -- just like that -- you and your Sophocles-quoting pooch are pedaling to Zimkoo Prime, where Grandma Brazeal, whom you so dearly miss, awaits with her warm humor and even warmer biscuits."

He smiled, and nodded toward the factory. "At least, that's how we do it in there."

And suddenly I knew.

"There's a printing press in there," I said.

"There's joy in there," Claus said. "And Phookets and pheekets and phakets. Skyscraping lizards in there. Adventure. Balloons with legs made of springs. There's redemption in there, Cool Kid. Enough for us all."

To contact writer Randy Waters, call 744-4240 or email rwaters@macon.com.

This story was originally published December 19, 2015 at 8:16 PM with the headline "THE COOL KID'S GUIDE TO READING: A visit to St. Nick ."