My children didn't receive any presents last year. I'm serious: none. As a parent, I was looking forward to last Christmas more than any in a long time.That's because I was under the assumption that Santa Claus was coming to town. So imagine my surprise when my kids rushed downstairs on Christmas morning and found the space underneath the Christmas tree as empty as it was the night before. What. The. Fuck.
Practically everyone I know over the age of 13 makes fun of me whenever I bring up the topic of Santa Claus. When I ask my co-workers what they hope Santa will bring their children this Christmas, I'm usually met with smirks and odd comments like "whatever's on sale at Wal-Mart." When I protest and say that sale prices mean nothing to Santa Claus, they usually get offended and say something antagonistic like "maybe prices don't matter to somebody who earns your kind of salary." What does my salary have to do with presents arriving on Christmas?
For the most part, I love Christmas movies because they reinforce my belief in the spirit of Christmas and Jolly Old St. Nicholas himself. However, there are some movies that seem to suggest that it's not Santa putting the presents under the tree but the parents themselves. Take for example A Christmas Story: After Ralphie and his brother head up to their rooms on Christmas Eve, Ralphie's dad says, "Ok, let's get them." When I was younger, I always assumed, like most children, that Ralphie's father was talking about sex toys. This was because as a child, I naively thought that parents had hot sex every night. As I have grown to learn that married people almost never have sex, I'm starting to think that maybe he was talking about 'presents', thus implying that Santa Claus would not be participating in the placement of the Parkers' presents that year.
Both were no-shows. No eggs on Easter. My kids searched the house inside and out for two full hours at my insistence that the Easter Bunny would not have forgotten them. Well, the sonofabitch forgot us all right. Imagine having to break that news to your children. They were devastated and kept crying, "I hate you, Daddy.I hate you." I hate me too, kids. I hate me too.
Or that's what my therapist says anyway. But maybe...
My kids are actually really naughty and thus didn't warrant the blessing of gifts from The Great Elf himself and only the coal storyline is a fallacy, something that I always thought to be inconsistent with Santa's otherwise overwhelmingly optimistic and compassionate nature, and my ears, like all other adult ears, are bewitched by Santa's magic into hearing skeptical and sarcastic comments from my co-workers even though my co-workers are really saying very merry things, because if adults did truly believe there was a magic man living in the arctic we would hunt him down and fall at his feet and make an idol out of him and the sudden fame would cause him to lose his innocence and start twerking like Miley Cyrus, and Ralphie's dad really only wanted to stuff his wife's stocking that night, and all of the holiday representatives are on strike this year, which would actually lend credibility to the Santa argument because real people gotta have real problems too, and when was the last year you made it to work every day so why don't you get off of Santa's back you shallow, heartless, life sucking leech?
I LOVE YOU SANTA! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! SOOOOOO MUUUUUUCCCHHHHH!!!