Dear Father Christmas,
All I want for Christmas is attention. (And a pronoun of my own.)
I want recognition of my identity. And
validation of my neuro-difference. After all, I am a survivor. And
autistic and marginalized and BIPOC. Please keep that in mind
when you put the goods into the stockings. I'll send you a list,
okay?
You'll remember I'm two-spirited, right?
Speaking of spirit, a stocking-full of spirits would be great. Or wine. (Organic grapes.) Chocolates too if possible. (Fair-traded.) I look forward to having my needs met by your largesse, Father Christmas. After all, snowflakes are your world, right?
You can just leave the stuff by the
hearth when you do your Chimney-Dash. (But nothing triggering, okay?)
Thank you, and Happy Intersectional Multiculturally-Diverse Holidays.
(PS: I don't care for that sexist title
you use, by the way. Why not Mother Christmas, or something Trans? I
can't call you Santa Claus because “santa” means saint which
sounds Euro-centric and colonialist. You need to work on your
intersectionality, FC. In time for next year, okay?)
(PPS: Is there any way you could let me know when you're coming so I could get a photo of you giving me the stuff? Except without you in the picture, of course. I like selfies best.)
