There was a time I used to believe in Santa Claus, and I am sure that you can say the same. The book I had about Santa was one of my favorites growing up. In fact, the short piece “Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus” is even now one of my favorite pieces of Christmas literature. But I am here today to tell Virginia that she was lied to. No, there is a not a Santa Claus – for Santa Claus is one big fat hoax.
The only thing that puzzles me is why more children do not smell a rat from the very beginning. Maybe they do, and just play along for the sake of their elders. I know that I was rather taken aback when I was told by my father that there is no Santa. I am sure I had my reservations about some parts of the Santa Claus story – but as for dismissing the entire tale, that was something I never independently did. The fact remains that there are so many holes in the story of Santa Claus – why, so many bold-faced improprieties, incongruities, and impossibilities – that you could drive a whole sleigh pulled by eight or nine reindeer through one of ‘em, and do it easily.
The first whopper I see is rather startling. Who was that first parent who told his child about Santa Claus, and what was he or she thinking? The parents already know that they will be the ones buying the little tot’s favorite toys and things to enjoy for Christmas Day. The logical thing to do would be to tell Junior that Mommy and Daddy are buying gifts for Junior for Christmas because they love him so much. But no – that would make too much sense. Instead, we’re going to tell Junior that some fat old man in a red suit is going to drive down here in a sleigh all the way from the North Pole, climb down our chimney, and deposit all of those presents under our Christmas tree. Why that idea alone is not enough to freak most children out is one of the mysteries of our time.
Nor is that all, for we have much more to observe in this comedy of errors we call the Santa Claus story. Take, for instance, the notion that Santa lives at the North Pole. Why, no person could safely or comfortably live at the top of the world. Have you ever looked for the North Pole on a map or a globe? It’s nothing but ice, because it’s smack-dab in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. Nobody lives there (much less Santa Claus), and many who have attempted to get there have perished or barely made it back. It hardly ever gets above freezing at the North Pole, and there are times in the year where there is either sunshine all the time or no sunlight at all. I think they made up Santa living at the North Pole because they don’t want anyone to go looking for him and find that he isn’t there.
Note also the claim that Santa is able, in one night, to deliver Christmas presents to all of the girls and boys in the world. Some even say Santa makes these presents himself with the help of his helpers, who are all elves (and how such tiny personages could be better help in manufacturing than big, strong men is beyond me). He puts all of the presents into a bag in his sleigh and then takes off into the air (with the aid of his flying reindeer – who incidentally can’t fly and don’t live at the North Pole, but in Scandinavia). If Santa is both rich enough and efficient enough to undertake this massive mission in one night and succeed, then he needs to be working as a consultant for the U.S. government ASAP. For my part, I don’t believe a word of it.
And if Santa is making all of these toys for the children, then why is he spotted at the mall every December? Does he need the help of big corporations to make his holiday project happen? Is he on a purchasing assignment? If so, then Santa is just another symbol of Christmas commercialism, and not, as they claim, a symbol of the purity and child-like innocence of Christmas.
That reminds me – every December, children go to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. I myself sat on Santa’s lap once (I asked for, among other things, a real Indian tomahawk; I was a dangerous and violent youngster). But when you see the merry old man perched on his throne in the middle of the concourse, with long lines of impatient families before him, what, pray tell, are nine out of ten children doing when they finally get to sit on his lap? Why, they are wailing so loudly that you would have thought Freddy Krueger just came into their bedroom at midnight. The fact is that children are afraid of Santa Claus when it comes right down to it. And he’s supposed to be the jolliest, kindest, most generous old man of them all. Fiddlesticks.
We are also told that Santa is keeping track of all the boys and girls in the world to see whether they are good or bad in the course of the long year – and if they are not good boys and girls, they won’t get any of the presents he plans to bring them. If this isn’t the biggest piece of hogwash ever perpetrated on the populace since the last act of Congress, tell me a bigger one and I’ll consider it. We all know that if Santa truly kept such a score, he’d be sitting home Christmas Eve night watching “The Biggest Loser”. This is because none of the little boys and girls are really that good the rest of the year. We all know Johnny bit and scratched and hit his little sister more times than we would like to admit, and that Sarah Sue fussed and cried and pouted to get her way and stole here little brother’s Legos and army-men and hid them in the bathtub drain at least twice. If those things aren’t enough to get crossed off Santa’s wonderful list, then Santa is just blowing smoke about the “good little boys and girls” routine. They claim that his gift to the bad children comes in the form of coal in their stockings, but I never once knew anybody that really got coal. And I know quite a few deserving candidates.
Now let us consider a few more elements of this elaborate holiday hoax. We all have heard that children are supposed to be in bed very early on Christmas Eve night so as not to be up when Santa arrives. No explanation is given as to why jolly old Saint Nick wouldn’t want to actually see the people to whom he is being so kind in bringing presents for Christmas (and they also don’t admit that the parents don’t want to be caught off-guard as they are assembling that shiny new bicycle they bought, either).
However, imagine with me (it’s easy if you try). Santa Claus comes, shouting with his trademark laughter, with a big sleigh drawn by eight or nine reindeer (who, incidentally, are not small beasts), and lands upon the roof. How is this not supposed to wake the entire neighborhood, much less the supposedly sleeping children? But it gets better. Santa is now supposed to come down the chimney. Santa is already, according to the story, quite rotund. On top of that, he has been eating quite a bit already, what with all the cookies and milk the children of the world have set out for him before retiring to bed, making him all that much more rotund (what if he gets indigestion?). What if the entirely plausible scenario that Santa gets stuck comes true? Is Roto-Rooter on standby to get him out? And what if the house has no chimney (as has been true with all but one of the houses I have lived in)? Is Santa supposed to just come in the front or back door? How about the window? What about the laws concerning breaking and entering? Do they not apply on Christmas Eve night?
Go along, if you like, with this farce called Santa. Enjoy the warm, fuzzy, nostalgic feelings he brings every 25th of December. I just can’t join you. There are simply too many glaring inconsistencies in the story to even make it fun anymore. In fact, should I have children, I will seriously consider not even bothering to tell them that Santa Claus is real. As they say, telling the truth is easier than lying because at least you can remember it more easily.
And with that, a merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
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