The First Dose of Reality

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Every kid has felt that undeniable longing for Christmas to just hurry up and get here. The night before Christmas, as a kid was absolutely ridiculous as sleep seemed like the dumbest of all ideas.

Yet eventually, sleep arrived as did the outlay of presents...Santa was brilliant, right?

I was a little slow on the upkeep when it came to Santa. Probably about the same age as Sam is now - ten - when the news was finally broken to me. I remember it like it was yesterday morning.

My brother John had started the ball rolling - on Christmas morning - that would've been about 1974.

John: Mom and Dad buy the presents. Santa is freaking bullshit.

Me: That's a lie! You're going to be in trouble with Santa just for saying that!

John: There isn't a Santa, dipshit. Think about it. How the hell would he hit every house in the world?

Me: Where do Mom and Dad get the money for all the presents?

Dad enters the room

John: Can we tell him there's no Santa.

Dad: Sounds like you did.

Me: Okay, so let me get this straight. Santa doesn't bring presents to every kid in the world. You guys help him out with that, but he still lives at the North Pole, right? He still has elves, right?

Dad and John laughing their asses off: Uh, no, dipshit.

So that was how I learned of it. I walked around in a fog all that morning. It was all a joke. Everything I'd learned up to that point was fabricated. There was a grand conspiracy to lie to me and that rat bastard, John had been in on it.

And I still feel a little that way now. The shine is gone for us this year as Sam has been brought up to speed on the whole deal and now, they all realize that we've been pulling the strings on the little play for the entire time.

And reality continues to hammer home the points of life that are most important and allow us to understand that the strings are being pulled in directions that don't line up with our grasp or understanding of what should be taking place.

No Santa?

What was next? Babe Ruth didn't really call his shot? OJ Simpson was really a murderer? Rock Hudson was gay? Mickey Mantle drank too much? God had a plan for our family that didn't line up with our wants, wishes, desires, and needs?

Nineteen-Seventy-Four.

I haven't seen life clearly since.

But at least the illusions I built around me did a decent job of sustaining me through some of the freaking bullshit.

I'm still a dipshit.

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