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Shenanigans of Christmas Past
6 years ago
General
In eternity, where there is no time, nothing can grow. Nothing can become. Nothing changes. So death created time to grow the things that it would kill and you are reborn but into the same life that you've always been born into.
You know, I could angst about my current job situation or the drama that is having family over for the holidays, but even I get exhausted from bitching and whining and complaining. So I wanted to talk about something more fun, that being my history with Santa Claus. Okay so a quick heads up, if anyone reading this doesn't know...Santa is not real. Also if you do believe in Santa, why are you on this website, nevermind my profile? You are on the naughty list and Krampus is coming for you!
I know a couple of people who...well they don't obsess on it, but they are pretty salty about the deception that is (or was) Santa Claus. It's certainly understandable and I don't blame anyone who considers it outright wrong. When I found out, I think I was 10 years old. I'm pretty sure I was 10. I think the big difference between me and how a lot of people found out was...when I started getting skeptical, I asked my parents outright. They have done and said a lot of things I don't agree with, but I do appreciate them telling me the truth. However there's always been a bit more to that whole thing that made me see it as something more fun than anything even (or maybe especially for) my parents.
One year...I must have been 4 or 5, no older than that for sure, I came into the living room on Christmas morning and in the ashes and soot in the fire place, I saw two distinct boot prints where Santa had come down the chimney. Obviously my dad had made those by putting his work boots in the fire place, but that was still pretty amazing for my little brain to behold.
Another amusing incident happened some years later when I was helping my mom bake cookies (as much as I could be of help anyways). And I guess they were pretty good because we always made enough for me and my brothers and parents to have some too, but always left out a plate for Santa. Well Dad kept getting more from the plate. And there weren't very many left at all. I was nervous, with it being Christmas Eve and all, so I left a letter for Santa telling him that I was sorry about there being so few cookies for him, but my dad kept eating them. The next morning I found a letter from the jolly man himself that pretty much said not to worry about it and that Mrs. Claus thinks he eats too many cookies anyways.
In hindsight, I've never really felt cheated. I think my parents (especially my dad) might've had more fun with the whole thing than any of us ever did.
I know a couple of people who...well they don't obsess on it, but they are pretty salty about the deception that is (or was) Santa Claus. It's certainly understandable and I don't blame anyone who considers it outright wrong. When I found out, I think I was 10 years old. I'm pretty sure I was 10. I think the big difference between me and how a lot of people found out was...when I started getting skeptical, I asked my parents outright. They have done and said a lot of things I don't agree with, but I do appreciate them telling me the truth. However there's always been a bit more to that whole thing that made me see it as something more fun than anything even (or maybe especially for) my parents.
One year...I must have been 4 or 5, no older than that for sure, I came into the living room on Christmas morning and in the ashes and soot in the fire place, I saw two distinct boot prints where Santa had come down the chimney. Obviously my dad had made those by putting his work boots in the fire place, but that was still pretty amazing for my little brain to behold.
Another amusing incident happened some years later when I was helping my mom bake cookies (as much as I could be of help anyways). And I guess they were pretty good because we always made enough for me and my brothers and parents to have some too, but always left out a plate for Santa. Well Dad kept getting more from the plate. And there weren't very many left at all. I was nervous, with it being Christmas Eve and all, so I left a letter for Santa telling him that I was sorry about there being so few cookies for him, but my dad kept eating them. The next morning I found a letter from the jolly man himself that pretty much said not to worry about it and that Mrs. Claus thinks he eats too many cookies anyways.
In hindsight, I've never really felt cheated. I think my parents (especially my dad) might've had more fun with the whole thing than any of us ever did.
V.