January 9 , 2004  
Volume 97, Issue 55  

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There must be a Santa, Santa Claus

Jordan Bell

Managing Editor

“I’m sorry to tell you this Jordie, but Santa Claus isn’t actually real.”

Blank stare. Tears swelling in my eyes. World collapsing around me. Can’t breathe. Mother and father Bell quickly becoming the root of all evil.

It was a chilly Sunday afternoon many years ago. I had just finished creating mock dating sessions between my GI Joes and my sister’s Barbies, and was heartily enjoying a Special Crisp chocolate bar (for which I had an unhealthy addiction). And then my folks dropped the above bombshell.

The news crushed a devoted Santa zealot and essentially destroyed his will to live. So many children before, and so many to come, will be forced to come to the realization that the fat-ass man with the kick ass beard doesn’t actually live up in the North Pole, but is just some scary dude at local shopping malls asking little children to sit on his unit... er lap. This truth is the first of many that tells us one thing... growing old really sucks.

English writer Anthony Powell said it best when he wrote, “Growing old is like being increasingly penalized for a crime you haven’t committed.” And no time proves this adage better than the holiday season.

Waking up at 3:30 a.m. on Christmas Day; hooking up your new Nintendo and playing until permanent indents appear on your thumbs; sneaking liquor on New Year’s Eve after your parents have passed out on the kitchen floor.

The holiday season just doesn’t have the same meaning. Everything you receive for Christmas, you could’ve just bought yourself. New Year’s parties get lamer and lamer the older you get. And due to global warming or some crazy act of Jim Carrey, we don’t even get a white Christmas — the Earth is too busy trying to stop us from killing ourselves.

I love my parents, but why couldn’t they have just left Santa placed squarely in my imagination. I never realized stealing a few cookies from the cookie jar constituted a felony.



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