After watching last week’s ridiculous Christmas-themed episode of Glee, I was left feeling a little funny inside. No, it’s not because the episode was terrible, it’s because I always feel uncomfortable when television shows (especially kid-friendly shows at 8pm) outrightly talk about how there is no such thing as Santa Claus. Many viewers across the country were probably watching the episode with their children, and may not have stuck around long enough for that ‘did Bieste or didn’t Bieste give Artie the magical legs that he randomly “can’t use all the time” so they can keep him in a wheelchair’ Christmas miracle moment.
When did you first find out that some creepy bearded guy doesn’t really break into your house every Christmas and leave you toys under a tree? This blog post would probably be better if I remembered the exact moment that I found out, but I don’t. I remember that a Jewish friend told me pretty early on, but I swore he was wrong. I liked the idea of Santa, and that non-believer wasn’t going to ruin it for me.
I also have memories of helping my parents cover up their Santa-lie to my younger brother. And yet, I still tried to believe in Santa, myself. My mind was operating with two conflicting realities. One the one hand I’d try to sound serious when I asked my brother if he had remembered to put cookies out for Santa. And on the other, I was reminding myself to leave carrots for the reindeer.
Alas, my innocence was lost one winter day many years ago when my mother flat out asked me: “You know there’s no such thing as Santa, right?” “Of course I know,” I replied as my childhood came crashing down around me. I answered: “Duh, mom.” Then I jumped in my car and drove away in tears.
Check back at Noon for the 4th in our series of Reader’s Choice Cocky Awards ballots!