Randy, The Newspaper Boy

(Such a big city
Such a small boy)

Almost everyone knows about little Tiny Tim in the Christmas Story
I'd like to tell you about Randy, the Newspaper Boy

Randy lived in Big town, U.S.A
If you saw him you really couldn't pick him out from any other news boy
Randy was a little younger than the rest
His clothing was a little tattered
But you might mark that off as just plain, boy

Randy was different though
You would have noticed that difference if you'd followed him home on Christmas eve, after the last paper was sold

If you'd been a storekeeper in a small toyshop
You would have seen a rosy-cheek face peering through the frosty glass, with eyes that were welled with tears
Eyes that seemed to tell of a young heart that was broken with the realism of life, and the coldness of the night
And possibly the thought that Santa Claus was a myth

(Such a big city
Such a small boy)

(If!)

If you were that storekeeper
You would have seen this young lad of 7
Turn his eyes away from the bikes and the thousands of other things that couldn't put a sparkle in his eyes
Then trench off into the crisp snow
Finally vanishing into the darkness of the night

(If!)

If you had been a patrolling policeman on that Christmas eve
You would have seen young Randy climb the creaky stairs of the tenement dwelling
With a face that's peculiar to only sad young boys
Then that dim flash at the top of the stairs that indicated that Randy was now inside

(If!)

If you'd been the walls of that tenement dwelling
You would have heard Randy's light voice telling his grandfather, who was now bedfast for his remaining days, that he'd sold all of his papers, and it didn't matter if Santa Claus didn't bring him anything
Because all he wanted was to be with his grandfather on Christmas eve

(Such a big city
Such a small boy)

(If!)

If you'd been the closet in the bedroom
You would have seen young Randy lying awake with silent tears in his eyes
A sad awareness that Christmas morning would be, in reality, just another morning for Randy
Then, a final sigh and Randy falling into a sad sleep

What a rude, hard plight for such a gentle lad
Along in the world with a bed-written grandfather, who could never bring the wonderment of Santa Claus on Christmas morning
The crushing blow, that Santa, was a myth

(If!)

If you'd been the fireplace, wise with age
You would have seen the look of reverent awe in the face of a young news boy named Randy
When he awoke on Christmas morning and beheld all the toys that he'd wanted in the toy-store window, just the night before
It's not very important as to how those got into the living room
Let's just say, that maybe, there is a Santa Claus!