Over the past few years, I have done my fair share of teasing Santa and all of his little quirks from cookie eating, milk drinking, chimney diving to credit stealing. I tease him because… well… I’m an adult now, and Santa to me at times seems like nothing more than a lazy stalker. I’m out doing all of his work and spending a ton of money while he watches my kids through windows while they’re sleeping… only to culminate in him
breaking swooping in on his magically mythical ass and becoming king of Christmas. Every year.
Each time I bring this up anywhere, I am met with a wave of “FUCK SANTA!!!”s.
Alright, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. No one has ever really been THAT forceful with it (unless they’re referring to the movie where Lauren Graham has a weird drunken Santa addiction)- but there does seem to be a lot of disdain with Mr. Clause.
Some think it’s unfair for him to take all of the credit and therefore only leave one or two presents under the tree from him- or refuse to give him credit for the biggest gift… Some people don’t even participate in Santa at all. No Santa in their house. Santa is evil, Santa is this or that- and no way is he going to come out on top for all the hard work he didn’t do.
And while I joke about it– and I have a lot of fun at the man whose face is so red I could swear he’s an alcoholic and maybe he ate too many rum-balls, see what I did there?’s expense…. I vehemently disagree with the Santa hate. Of course I’m not going to tell you that if you choose to cut the Jolly dude out of the picture that you’re wrong- because just as there is no one way to parent, there is no one way to Christmas- but I am going to tell you why, even though I find nothing more amusing during the holiday season than pumpkin pie and making up hilarious new nicknames for The Elephant Elf- I actually love him and everything he stands for.
Growing up, I think I believed in Santa for a shorter amount of time than the majority of my peers because I had an asshole brother who liked to ruin everything he possibly could for me- but the memories I have of not being able to fall asleep because I knew Santa would be coming as soon as I closed my eyes; waking up and seeing all the new presents under the tree, opening the ones marked “From Santa” and being filled with the absolute pure joy that he really WAS real and he really DID know what I wanted-
well, those are the kinds of memories we never forget.
Santa wasn’t just a round man with a long white beard and black boots who once a year got pulled behind a group of flying reindeer that somehow managed to cram himself through the chimney of EVERY child on earth in one short night. Santa wasn’t JUST about presents (although I’d be full of shit if I said that didn’t play a big part in it)
Santa represented magic. How did reindeer fly? Magic. How did he circle the entire globe and visit every child in a matter of hours? Magic. How did he get himself in and out of spaces that would trap a small child? Duh, MAGIC. And I believed in it. Wholeheartedly believed that magic was absolutely real and that Santa had it.
Some people might just call that being a gullible little kid, willing to believe anything an adult says- and maybe that’s true- but those ages, that unfaltering belief in things that just can’t be explained by logic and reasoning? They were special. And they don’t last for very long.
Over time and with age and experience, the belief in those things fade away. You learn your parents were the ones who played the part of Santa all along. The guy in the mall was actually just a normal dude and not an elf, same with his helpers. Still, no one can take the memories of a Santa-filled childhood away from you.
Why would I want to keep that from my children? Childhood is fleeting. We learn once we have children that the time moves SO quickly and before we know it, the window for magic passes by- and you can’t get it back. Even if the notion that the Easter Bunny shits out eggs filled with candy and we eat them, or that the Toothfairy must have serial killer tendencies to be collecting tiny little teeth all the time, or that Jolly old Saint Nick is lurking in the rafters just waiting to pounce…
Christmas morning when my kids come running down the stairs and I see their eyes light up because they just know…. Santa came. Santa is real. And I see the absolute joy it brings them? Well, at those times I don’t care about not getting the credit for battling crowds and spending too much money. It is more than worth it for what I’m getting in return- to experience magic all over again through the eyes of my own children.
Also, once the time comes for the illusion to fade and they find out it’s been Mommy and Daddy all those years… we become the ultimate Christmas champions. Boom!
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