12/24/2025
A number of years ago when my son Grayson was a young boy, I had a friend call and leave a message on my voicemail on Christmas Eve on a year that my son was with his mom that night.
The friend talked as Santa, saying that he needed help getting into the homes in Ogden. I played it for Grayson the next day and it has been a fun memory since then.
This twist on T'was the Night Before Christmas written below is inspired by that memory. Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
’Twas the night before Christmas, my van finally in Park,
Praying no car keys would be lost in the dark.
The picks were pouched neatly, the Lishis in place,
The pin kit latched tight, double checked.... just in case.
The key machine rested, no blanks left to cut,
No locks to rekey, no closers that don’t shut.
My boots by the door, my pajamas now donned,
Too comfortable, settled; I felt a call coming on.
I laid down to rest, when I heard from my phone
A sound seasoned locksmiths, sometimes bemoan.
I answered it softly, with practiced ease,
“Locksmith,” I said... what help they would need?
But a voice warm and steady, both cheerful and deep,
Said, “Good sir, forgive me for stealing your sleep.
I am Santa Claus calling, with matters quite dire
The city is locked, and the hour draws nigher.”
“Once doors stood unfastened, or barred with a beam,
And entry was easy and part of the scheme.
But pins came in stacks in the eighteen hundreds’ time,
When Yale made my methods no longer sublime.”
“Deadbolts grew longer, keyways grew tight,
Now smart locks and spool pins plague every night.
Chimneys got sealed, latches harder to loid,
And bump keys, I’m told, won’t fill the void.”
“So long ago locksmiths and Santas agreed,
One helper per year for this difficult need.
No drilling, no forcing, no marks left behind;
By skill of the hand, leaving no trace to find.”
Before I could question the terms or the ride,
A sleigh stood outside with reindeer in stride.
Up over the rooftops we traveled, racing the clock;
We saw all grades of hardware; from builder grade to Mul-T-lock.
This one a Schlage with tolerances fair,
I set every pin with meticulous care.
Next came a Kwikset with soft pins, loose and floppy,
Santa sighed gently, “I wouldn’t need you if all cores were this sloppy .”
Then Medeco loomed with its angled disdain,
Sidebar engaged, like it wanted me pained.
I slowed my own breathing, felt rotation align,
And Santa said softly, “We don’t have much time.”
Each lock looked untouched when our work had been done,
No plug forced or twisted, not a scratch upon one.
No homeowner stirred, no alarm raised its cry,
No sign that we’d passed as the sleigh hurried by.
By dawn I was home, my picks straight and fine,
The LockTech now charging; Rytan resting benign.
A note on my bench in red script precise
“Thank you, good locksmith; your work doth suffice.”
So remember this tale when your key turns just right,
And your door holds secure through the cold winter night.
