Merry Fucking Christmas

I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six years old. I walked into the living room to find my parents putting the presents under the tree. I asked why Santa wasn't doing it. They said Santa was busy, so he had dropped off the presents and left.

I knew at once this was bullshit. If Santa can deliver a billion presents in one night, he can take the time to put them under the tree. My suspicions were confirmed with the discovery of several receipts in the trash. My parents had bought those presents. Santa Claus? Fictitious.

I discovered the same thing about the Tooth Fairy the year before. (Funny story: I didn't ask for a dollar, which was the going rate of teeth back then. I asked for a book. I woke up to see my mom trying to sneakily put the book I wanted next to my bed. I didn't tell her I caught her, but I did give her a big hug the next day.)

The Easter Bunny isn't real either. Neither is the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, Yeti, the Abominable Snowman, Bloody Mary, vampires, ghosts, goblins, fairies, and God.

Do you know what is real?

Fear is real. The sound of your heart beating, the sweat on your forehead, the hairs on your arms standing up. Santa Claus isn't real, but there's a man who sees you when you're sleeping. The Tooth Fairy isn't real but there's something out there that will take away a piece of you. There are many things that aren't real...but there are so many things that are. Bad things. Terrible monstrous things.

And on this darkest of nights, what do we do? We wait for a fat man to bring us presents. We don't despair into the night. We sit and laugh and watch cheesy movies and give each other gifts. Fear is real, but so is hope.

I learned that Santa Claus wasn't real when I was six. It took me over thirty years to figure out that I was wrong. Just because something doesn't exist, doesn't mean it isn't real.

So have a merry fucking Christmas. And a happy fucking New Year.