EDITORIAL & OPINIONS
There must be a Santa, Santa Claus
“I’m sorry to
tell you this Jordie, but Santa Claus isn’t actually
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.