The truth can hurt

I’d just finished reading Santa’s latest letter when my parents broke the news which, in turn, broke me – wonderful timing guys! Yes, it hurt. For 10 years I’d been cementing my magical sleigh theories, and now all was crushed in a matter of seconds.
Looking back though, I think this is the best lesson to teach a child:
Hey guess what, kids? You were lied to and you didn’t have a clue! You numpties. Kids receive a powerful punch for favouring faith over logic. I still remember the way my mind worked before that painful day. Classmates’ arguments falsifying the big red man were a no-no: I didn’t want to hear them because they evoked a bad feeling in my stomach. I’d go home and my brother would restore my faith, reinforce it ready for the next day.
Then there was the video evidence that my Dad had filmed of Santa rummaging around the living-room, unable to contain his Ho-Ho-Hos. This clip was my Bible. And then the fact that the man himself kept phoning me every year for a catch-up, bells ringing in the background (Grandad).
Would I still believe if my family never told me the truth? Probably not. But what if the story wasn’t universally debunked, if billions of adults insisted that Santa is alive but flies too fast for the eye to see? You know where this is going.
Santa is Jesus, isn’t he? He’s a fat son of/God ready to reward the good and punish the bad. ’Be good for goodness sake’, or jolly old Santa will throw you into the fireplace and watch you BURN forever. Sleep well children, and be sure to leave Santa a bathtub of milk so he doesn’t feel thirsty during your high-def torture.
Point is, if I’d been encouraged to believe in Jesus as much if not more than Santa, it’s very likely I’d still believe in the bearded magician today. I’d have kept pulling reasons out of my sleeve as to why no-one’s seen him around for centuries and this time I’d have a big book to refer to for more reasons, a book written and read by adults. I probably wouldn’t bother reading this sort of post because Santa is real, damn it, and if I just follow somebody else’s agenda and sacrifice critical thought he’ll deliver the biggest gift of all time… once I’m dead.
Anywho it’s Christmas and nobody’s allowed to hate me bar Sir Cliff Richard, who claims it’s the perfect season for hating, nay fighting to see…

By the way, my mind will never be blown as hard as the day the true meaning of ’I saw Mummy kissing Santa Claus’ was revealed to me. I was 23 years old.


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