I’ve quit looking for him.

I’ve been around long enough to know when someone doesn’t want to be found. And with those types, I’m not going to bother.

A few weeks ago, we pulled out the Christmas decorations. This included our nativity. Mary, Joseph – the baby. Shepherds, sheep and camels. Then there were the Wisemen.

I suspected a problem with them.

We have a renegade and he’s AWOL this Christmas. I assume he’s hiding out in the attic amongst boxes containing ancient school books, baby clothes and one size 10, puffy-sleeved, gargantuan-skirted, Princess Diana era wedding dress.

I tried to fix him but I guess my mend wasn’t cosmetic enough to suit his highfalutin’ tastes — so he took off.

You see, a few years ago, we positioned the crèche on the television cabinet. The Lord stationed over that lesser god.

Well, as fate would have it, an overzealous game of Wii tennis created a small earthquake in the Judean countryside. This sent Wiseman Number 2 tumbling to the ground snapping off his head and breaking the box of frankincense from his grasp.

I tried to make him whole. First with hot glue then with Elmer’s. The latter took, but left Magi Number Two with a rather nasty crick in his neck.

The box of treasure meant for the baby King eventually got lost. I suspect he sold it to the innkeeper to pay off some wagers at Bethlehem Downs.

I tried to fix him…I really did. That’s why he never got in the box with the other two astronomers. Finally mid-January, I put him in the attic, crooked neck and empty-handed still dressed in his flowing Middle-Eastern robes.

I’m done searching. If he turns up some July when I’m looking for beach toys so be it. I can’t be bothered with someone who doesn’t want to be a part of our Christmas.

He had given me trouble before. In the years before three children took a toll on his good looks, I’d always find him turned slightly away from the baby. Yes, the original “Wiseman on the Shelf,” no matter how many times I repositioned him toward Mary holding the infant, the next morning I’d awake to him staring off to new horizons, whatever was waiting through the doorway and beyond the window onto South Main Street.

I guess that’s no surprise from one so darned smart. Who wants to stare down at a baby for 30 days when you know the next 11 months hold darkness, cardboard and squeaky bubble wrap?

I feel sorry for him. But I’m done worrying. He gave up searching for the baby; I gave up on finding him.

That just leaves the baby. Every morning he is repositioned ever so slightly. No matter how I try to straighten him out — the Centerpiece of this thing — each dawn brings him turned slightly to the right looking toward the spot vacated by our voluntary MIA Magi.

Funny, not a family member, friend or critter who has passed by the display this Christmas has noticed the missing Wisemen formation.

Seems no one cares to search for one who doesn’t want to be found.

Well, no one except the baby.