JAMES EDWARD JINGLE

James Edward Jingle was born on July 4th, 2001, at exactly midnight, as fireworks exploded over the North Pole in celebration of — well, technically not of him, but Jimmy has always considered this a technicality worth ignoring. The sky was full of gold and red and green. The whole village was cheering. It was, by any measure, a tremendous entrance. He has been trying to live up to it ever since and has largely succeeded.

He was the third child, arriving seven years after Jonny was expected and quite a bit after Jenny and Jammy had already established the household's general emotional register — which is to say, functional but not exactly exuberant. Jimmy arrived exuberant. He arrived exuberant and he has never stopped. The family took a collective breath, recognized what they had, and decided to let him be exactly who he was. Mostly because there was no other option. You don't redirect Jimmy. You just move furniture out of the way and let him go.

His first Workshop evaluation happened at nineteen. He walked in, shook every single hand, asked every co-worker three questions about their day, and proceeded to demonstrate a wrapping technique that the Head Elf at the time described as "technically unorthodox but somehow faster than anything I've ever seen." He scored the highest first-evaluation score in Workshop Floor A history. The Head Elf position opened three weeks later. Jimmy did not apply for it. He simply showed up at 5 AM on the Monday after it was announced, decorated the entire floor, and was standing at the center station when everyone else arrived. Jammy, who was doing his Floor B rounds, walked in, looked at the garlands and the music and the grinning twenty-year-old at the center station, and said three words: "It's yours, kid."

The wrapping record was set on December 19th of his second year as Head Elf. 847 presents, nine hours, perfect bows on every single one. He broke the previous record by 200. When his name went up on the board, he stood in front of it for five full minutes. Nobody spoke. They understood. Some experiences have to just be felt, and this was one of them. Then he turned around, saw that everyone was watching him, and immediately started crying. Happy tears. Obviously.

He is, at 24, the most purely joyful person the North Pole Workshop has ever employed. This is not disputed. This is not hyperbole. This is the documented, consensus opinion of everyone who has ever worked alongside him, including the two people who initially found his enthusiasm "a bit much." They came around. They always come around. It's impossible not to. Jimmy's joy is infectious in the most literal sense — it spreads, it lingers, it gets into people, and eventually they find themselves decorating their workspace and singing carols at their station and genuinely feeling like everything is going to be exactly as wonderful as it should be. That is what Jimmy does. That is what Jimmy is.