Thank Goodness It Only Kills Cats, Pt. 2
When I last left you, humble readers, I was enthralling you with a tale from my past that had a point that I hadn't gotten to yet, and included two key characters thus far:
1) The Man in Red - either Santa or Satan, depending on whether or not you're stupid enough to believe that Santa is real.
2) The Action Figure in Blue - Billy! Billy the Blue Ranger!
While I have significantly nicer things to say about the latter, the former is who the second half of this entry will focus on primarily in the interest of reaching that point that I keep telling you that this blog entry definitely has. In case you missed the first half of the entry, RECAP: A man dressed as Santa used to come to my house a week or two before Christmas in an attempt to steal any innocence I had remaining, but would always leave a shweet toy (like Billy!) next to my lifeless body after I passed out from the sheer horror of his presence.
Because of a significant and easily exploited loophole in the biological makeup of children, there is simply no amount of terror that can't be temporarily combatted with an awesome toy or some delicious candy. While I have a knack for saying plenty of inappropriate things, I do not feel the need to run with that statement any further. As a quick learner, it didn't take me long to recognize that, while he may go about it in entirely the wrong way, this bearded monster who visited my house ultimately had my best interest at heart. I warmed up to him some, and eventually was even able to remain conscious for entire visits.
However, like many things in my life, Santa didn't really make sense to me. Even with my primitive grasp of time and space, I recognized a flaw in the idea that he could fit everybody's presents in a red sack in his sleigh and find a way to deliver them all in one night. And the chimney thing? This guy's the size of John Goodman, but with more fur. Yeah, something was most certainly amiss. I confronted my parents with my doubts, to which they smiled and replied "magic!" Bullshit.
I was maybe six or eight years old, but one year when that walking Christmas nightmare showed up to my house, curiosity finally got the best of me. I noticed that, for a man who makes it a priority to be as noisy as humanly possible everywhere he goes, Santa's reindeer sure were quiet. More magic?
Right. That shit's everywhere.
With the other children and parents distracted, I casually backpedaled away from the commotion and toward the front door. I grabbed some carrots as I passed through the kitchen; if there really were magic stealth reindeer on our roof, then I was about to be best friends with them. ALL the normal kids wanted were their presents. All I wanted was some goddamn answers.
***SPOILER ALERT: If you're a child age 10 or younger, or a severely disillusioned adult who still believes in Santa, please stop reading this column now. Important secret magic details about Santa to follow.***
Now that it's just the sane adults, I am prepared to disclose to you exactly what I found outside that night: rain. Rain all over my rooftop, and rain all over my hopes and dreams. My parents found me outside an instant after my discovery. They had some explaining to do, and they knew it. They pulled me back inside and set me on the impostor's lap. I stared into his eyes; my anger had quickly outgrown my fear,
"Where's your sleigh?" I asked him, less interested in the actual location of his sleigh than in the way he would choose to answer my question.
"HO HO HO," he bellowed, looking uncomfortably at my parents for help. "WHY IT'S STILL AT THE NORTH POLE, SON! THE REINDEER NEED THEIR REST FOR THEIR BIG TRIP THIS CHRISTMAS!"
Holy shit this guy never gets any quieter. If this is his inside voice, I'll take my own life before I leave this house with him.
"But how did you get here tonight? All I saw outside was an old Buick."
"WHY THAT'S THE SANTA CAR!! THAT'S WHAT WE TAKE TO GIVE THE REINDEER REST, AND TO LET THE ELVES FIX UP THE SLEIGH SO WE CAN GET YOU ALL OF THOSE PRESENTS THIS CHRISTMAS. YOU'VE BEEN SUCH A GOOD BOY THIS YEAR, HAVEN'T YOU?"
Looking at the floor, I smiled sheepishly, shrugged, and said, "Yeah, really good."
No. Don't you do this to me, you manipulative bastard.
And at that moment Santa reached into his bag of presents and pulled out one with my name on it. I threw both caution and wrapping paper to the wind as I tore through the decorative barrier to my early Christmas gift.
LEGOS. How... How in the hell?
I had never loved anybody so much in my life. All the questions from earlier in the night faded into the background. My existence was here, now, in this moment. The LEGOS were all that I knew. I wandered alone into the corner of the room, sat, and began to build. And just like that, the bearded man's deception was complete.
*****************************************************************************
I love that story. I don't remember it quite as well as I've pretended to, but my parents tell it the same every time. This is the way that I've always operated; it's not that I truly believed that Santa didn't exist, it's just that my mind wasn't able to make the journey from "oblivious" to "believer" in something when there were so many holes along the path. I could make the effort, but if the hole was big enough, I'd need to fill it before I could move forward. I've always argued that this probably meant I was pretty good at keeping my feet on the ground, but you wouldn't necessarily be wrong if you looked at me and playfully said, "Ugh, you're no fun."
I'm like this in a lot of ways, the most significant of which is in the religion department. I consider myself a very spiritual person, but I definitely adhere to my own belief system, and to my own moral code as I believe it exists. I grew up with a family that went to church every Sunday. I hated every minute of it, but I'm thankful for it now. Real or not, I think it probably made me a better person in the end (it made me a rebellious, condescending asshole at the time). In those years and in those church services, nothing that I would hear made enough sense to me for me to fully endorse it. My mind has a default response that looks exactly like this: "Wait... What???"
I admire people that are able to accept things on faith. I envy them, even. But this is only true on the condition that, even though they strongly subscribe to a particular set of ideals, they are still educated and open-minded. I have a very difficult time tolerating the bull-headed and the ignorant. I've always longed to be as confident and assured of my own beliefs as they are, but never at the cost of my own wisdom and tolerance, however limited it may be.
All of that being said, I'll be teaching my kids many of the same things that I learned growing up. I don't believe in Santa, but I'll talk of him so that I can see my kids eyes light up around Christmas time. I don't believe in Jesus, but I'll tell stories of his wisdom and his kindness so that it may resonate with my kids and they can be better, wiser people in the end. I'll tell them of Gandhi, Buddha, and others, and what they introduced into the world we know today. I'll tell them to question the world around them and to reflect on the things that they hear from the mouths of others, to regard their existence with the same curiosity and wonder that I did and still do. I'll tell them to know how little they know. I'll beg them to think for themselves.
Then I'll tell them that there won't be many people like them in the whole world, and I'll tell them to be damn proud of that.
I was maybe six or eight years old, but one year when that walking Christmas nightmare showed up to my house, curiosity finally got the best of me. I noticed that, for a man who makes it a priority to be as noisy as humanly possible everywhere he goes, Santa's reindeer sure were quiet. More magic?
Right. That shit's everywhere.
With the other children and parents distracted, I casually backpedaled away from the commotion and toward the front door. I grabbed some carrots as I passed through the kitchen; if there really were magic stealth reindeer on our roof, then I was about to be best friends with them. ALL the normal kids wanted were their presents. All I wanted was some goddamn answers.
***SPOILER ALERT: If you're a child age 10 or younger, or a severely disillusioned adult who still believes in Santa, please stop reading this column now. Important secret magic details about Santa to follow.***
Now that it's just the sane adults, I am prepared to disclose to you exactly what I found outside that night: rain. Rain all over my rooftop, and rain all over my hopes and dreams. My parents found me outside an instant after my discovery. They had some explaining to do, and they knew it. They pulled me back inside and set me on the impostor's lap. I stared into his eyes; my anger had quickly outgrown my fear,
"Where's your sleigh?" I asked him, less interested in the actual location of his sleigh than in the way he would choose to answer my question.
"HO HO HO," he bellowed, looking uncomfortably at my parents for help. "WHY IT'S STILL AT THE NORTH POLE, SON! THE REINDEER NEED THEIR REST FOR THEIR BIG TRIP THIS CHRISTMAS!"
Holy shit this guy never gets any quieter. If this is his inside voice, I'll take my own life before I leave this house with him.
"But how did you get here tonight? All I saw outside was an old Buick."
"WHY THAT'S THE SANTA CAR!! THAT'S WHAT WE TAKE TO GIVE THE REINDEER REST, AND TO LET THE ELVES FIX UP THE SLEIGH SO WE CAN GET YOU ALL OF THOSE PRESENTS THIS CHRISTMAS. YOU'VE BEEN SUCH A GOOD BOY THIS YEAR, HAVEN'T YOU?"
Looking at the floor, I smiled sheepishly, shrugged, and said, "Yeah, really good."
No. Don't you do this to me, you manipulative bastard.
And at that moment Santa reached into his bag of presents and pulled out one with my name on it. I threw both caution and wrapping paper to the wind as I tore through the decorative barrier to my early Christmas gift.
LEGOS. How... How in the hell?
I had never loved anybody so much in my life. All the questions from earlier in the night faded into the background. My existence was here, now, in this moment. The LEGOS were all that I knew. I wandered alone into the corner of the room, sat, and began to build. And just like that, the bearded man's deception was complete.
*****************************************************************************
I love that story. I don't remember it quite as well as I've pretended to, but my parents tell it the same every time. This is the way that I've always operated; it's not that I truly believed that Santa didn't exist, it's just that my mind wasn't able to make the journey from "oblivious" to "believer" in something when there were so many holes along the path. I could make the effort, but if the hole was big enough, I'd need to fill it before I could move forward. I've always argued that this probably meant I was pretty good at keeping my feet on the ground, but you wouldn't necessarily be wrong if you looked at me and playfully said, "Ugh, you're no fun."
I'm like this in a lot of ways, the most significant of which is in the religion department. I consider myself a very spiritual person, but I definitely adhere to my own belief system, and to my own moral code as I believe it exists. I grew up with a family that went to church every Sunday. I hated every minute of it, but I'm thankful for it now. Real or not, I think it probably made me a better person in the end (it made me a rebellious, condescending asshole at the time). In those years and in those church services, nothing that I would hear made enough sense to me for me to fully endorse it. My mind has a default response that looks exactly like this: "Wait... What???"
I admire people that are able to accept things on faith. I envy them, even. But this is only true on the condition that, even though they strongly subscribe to a particular set of ideals, they are still educated and open-minded. I have a very difficult time tolerating the bull-headed and the ignorant. I've always longed to be as confident and assured of my own beliefs as they are, but never at the cost of my own wisdom and tolerance, however limited it may be.
All of that being said, I'll be teaching my kids many of the same things that I learned growing up. I don't believe in Santa, but I'll talk of him so that I can see my kids eyes light up around Christmas time. I don't believe in Jesus, but I'll tell stories of his wisdom and his kindness so that it may resonate with my kids and they can be better, wiser people in the end. I'll tell them of Gandhi, Buddha, and others, and what they introduced into the world we know today. I'll tell them to question the world around them and to reflect on the things that they hear from the mouths of others, to regard their existence with the same curiosity and wonder that I did and still do. I'll tell them to know how little they know. I'll beg them to think for themselves.
Then I'll tell them that there won't be many people like them in the whole world, and I'll tell them to be damn proud of that.
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