Jack Tame doesn't want anything for Christmas except time with family.
Dear Santa,
Thanks, but honestly I'm good.
I appreciate the thought. I appreciate your generosity. I appreciate that at this time of year it's normal and quite reasonable to have a little wish list.
But I'm absolutely sincere and not even trying to play the goodie-good world-saving martyr card. I don't want anything for Christmas. Any. Thing. Emphasis on "thing".
I still want for moments. I want backyard cricket and banter.
I want the neighbours to get together and for my dad to force everyone to sing Feliz Navidad while his cheese sizzler fingers pad the frets of his guitar.
I'll want wine at dinner. Christmas cracker jokes followed by some decent ones, too. The gentle-but-merciless teasing that always rages around our turkey.
I'll want one of my sisters to seize the audience with an embarrassing story from my awkward childhood that we've already heard 10 times before.
I'll counter with that anecdote about someone's terrible high-school boyfriend, silly hats will be on, gloves will be off.
Voices will rise in joy, and then we'll all come together and play Gin Rummy over dessert.
But please Santa; seriously, I don't want stuff.
I've seen the new hover boards and they look fantastic. Those swanky FitBits are kind of neat. I've even flirted with asking for a new pair of headphones in a smooth leather case.
But I don't need them.
I don't need the clutter. I don't need the money spent.
I'd rather a memory or experience or a replacement set of razor cartridges than any material possession that sits on a shelf.
I walked past the City Mission on Thursday - and I know everyone goes on about charity at this time of year, but cars were double-parked outside and there were lines down the street.
Not getting a hover board in my stocking on December 25 doesn't count as going without.
I've got family and love and banter. In the world of giving and receiving, Santa, I've already done too well.
The 36-year-old died on December 19.