DECEMBER 25, 2025 – People who know me well would likely doubt that for a brief time I went through a football phase. Documentary evidence of this improbable stage of my life takes the form of a letter to Santa that by pure coincidence of timing—today being Christmas Day—I rediscovered in a box full of old miscellany. For years the box had been in cold storage (particularly in winter months) in the garage, and recently I’d moved this box and several others into the house for consolidation of their contents—contents that had accumulated over the years in various offices where I spent most of my waking hours. I have no idea how the letter to Santa wound up in the box—or rather, how the letter to Santa wound up in my office.
In my early cursive—third grade[1]—the letter read,
Dear Santa,
We (Jenny and Eric) have been good children. Jenny wants a thumblina [sic] doll and a Donald Duck record for Xmas. I want a football outfit (shoulder pads, helmet, shirt, pants, football, tee) and a Duncan yo-yo.
Best wishes
Eric & Jenny
P.S. SEND A LETTER BACK
My football phase coincided with my farm phase, as reflected in what appeared as an after-thought written on the outside of the envelope: Eric also wants a farm set like the one I showed Mom.
The letter was addressed to:
Santa Claus
North Pole
IMPORTANT
A year or two later I emerged from both farm and football phases. I eventually settled down in a more lasting phase: the practice of law. Apropos of my “vocational phase,” in the same box with my letter to Santa were three thick volumes comprising my “Day File” for the calendar year 1986. Back in those days, every secretary at our firm maintained in chronological order, a copy of every single stitch of paper that went out the door. Of course, a copy of every letter, court filing, and so on went into the appropriate client/matter file, as well, but the purpose of the Day File was to keep everything in one place for easier retrieval. It was essentially a “daily diary” of my practice.
When I left the firm in 1987, I took my “Day File” with me, stashed it away—and let it ferment for 40 years. None of it is as entertaining as my letter to Santa, and surely none of the contents is of any interest to anyone but me. Even to me, it holds only passing sentimental value. Today I took a few minutes to flip through the pages—pleadings, notices, internal memoranda, other legal papers, but mostly hundreds of old-fashioned letters to clients, opposing counsel, title companies, and realtors. In a rush of nostalgia, I recalled the many transactions, disputes, and other matters that occupied my professional time.
The second biggest impression the Day File left on me today was the degree to which technology has increased productivity. What required dictation by me, transcription by a “secretary,” as they were called back then, or someone in the after-hours typing pool, followed by revisions and re-transcription, then the services of a courier or the United States Postal Service, has long since been replaced by far more efficient digital means. Opening the cover of the Day File to glance at its contents is like opening a garage door and finding a horse-drawn buggy.
The biggest impression, of the Day File, however, was its juxtaposition to my letter of Santa: if a physical Day File is now a complete anachronism, a child’s letter to Santa will always be timeless. Let us hope so, anyway.
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
[1] I remember composing the letter—when I was in third grade. By that time I knew the truth about Santa, but I wanted my younger sister Jenny (five) to keep on believing. Plus, I wanted to ensure that our mother, whom I knew would be the actual recipient of the letter, to know exactly what I wanted for Christmas.
