Santa is magic

Santa Claus. Well, you know. I had a problem with Santa from the beginning.

The whole backstory was fishy. From both an epistemological and ontological perspective.

I recall being introduced to Santa in the antediluvian world of the early 1960s. Santa was appearing at Sears and Roebucks, a giant blue cube which is now Michael's on East. Santa, Dad told me, would be there in person. I could meet Santa.

This struck me as bullshit. Or the childish equivalent thereof.

I informed my Dad that this appearance wasn't logical. Santa was a major world figure, like JFK or Khrushchev. If Santa was appearing at Sears, there'd be TV cameras and screaming crowds. More importantly, WHY would he appear at Sears? Santa has better things to do.

Dad conceded that it wasn't Santa. As such. It was Santa's helper. One of Santa's many representatives, pervading the world.

OK. I could buy that.

So, I joined the line of snotnosed children at Sears. After an interminable wait, I met Santa's Helper #4,917. I asked him for an end to nuclear war and to make my parents stop fighting. And a bicycle.

But a seed had been planted in my mind. A seed of doubt.

The logical inconsistencies of the Santa story stuck with me.

I thought about it.

Santa had a workshop at the North Pole? There was precedent. Superman maintained his Fortress of Solitude at the North Pole. Santa had a vast army of elves, endlessly working, creating toys in a vast factory.

OK. So, why were the toys under the Christmas tree WRAPPED IN PLASTIC with the stickers obviously pulled off? Was Mattel shipping toys to the North Pole for redelivery by Santa?

If Santa delivered toys to all the good little children, what about the starving children in India? Or Africa? Or Communist China? Did they get toys?

Come to think of it -- leaving the question of surveillance aside -- how could Santa possibly deliver toys to all the good little children on earth in 12 hours? How did he fit all those toys in one sack in one sleigh? It violated the laws of physics.

I confronted my father with these questions. He's like Foghorn Leghorn. I'm like Widow Hen's insane genius baby chicken. Dad thinks. He doesn't want to say "Santa is bullshit." That'd rob me of one of the joys of childhood. Creating this joy explains the adult conspiracy to feed unsuspecting children this bogus story about a fat man in an anti-gravity sleigh distributing toys. So Dad says, "Santa's magic." Or something to that effect.

Good magic or black magic?

Good magic.

Oh, I say. So Santa's working for Jesus!

It's all so logical. It explains why a Turkish Bishop from the fourth century had lived for nearly 2,000 years in a Fortress of Holiday Gifting at the North Pole. Why Santa could circumnavigate the globe in only a night. His sleigh and flying reindeer. His ability to watch you at all times. The computational power implied in dividing all the children of the world into lists of good and bad.

Santa was working for Jesus. After His resurrection, Jesus left the earth and delegated some of His powers to Santa until His return. He extended Santa's lifespan and gave him extrasensory powers. The elves, no doubt, were diminutive Neanderthal Men, whom Jesus resurrected and sent to work for Santa. The cavemen were grateful. "Ugh! We make toys now!" It all made sense now.

Dad looked at me. Appalled. I had just folded the bullshit story of Santa Claus into Christian theology. It was, after all, the only logical explanation. Santa's sleigh flew for the same reason that Moses had parted the waters. It was a miracle. God's power. What else?

The only way to refute this notion was to say, "Uh, sorry son. This whole Santa Claus thing is pure bullshit. Adults like to tell this shit to kids to make their eyes light up on Christmas morning."

He didn't.

"Sure," he said. "That's one way to look at it."

Two years later, I was taking a leak in the boy's restroom at Alta Vista Elementary. I asked some kid what Santa was getting him for Christmas. He snorted. "You still believe in Santa Claus?" No, of course not. I fought back tears. Zipped up. Just joking. Ha-ha. Santa? I don't believe in Santa ...

Jesus, I thought.

If they lied to me about Santa Claus ...

What else are they lying about?

I got a Lionel train set for Christmas.