The truth is, I harbor a deep, undying hope Santa is real and have for my whole, entire life. There, I’ve said it and I’m glad.
You’re welcome to mock and scoff, because I know it’s dumb. My sister outed Santa when I was only 6 and she left absolutely no room for doubt. After delivering a snappy, fact-based refutation of his existence, she fingered my parents as scheming impostors, frogmarched me to the attic, and unveiled an eye-popping mountain of swag. There were dolls and toys, Flintstone building blocks, a basketball, board games, and the air was electric with the smell of plastic. I felt overjoyed and heartbroken all at the same time — my mind was blown to smithereens.
How could this be, I wondered? Someone was clearly trying to trick me, but who? Was it my sister, a known tyrant, or Santa, the bringer of happiness and bicycles? Well, my sister had quite a history of deception. According to her: I was adopted; my dolls were conspiring to smother me; trolls lived in the crawl space in the basement; she had superpowers and could make me disappear like that, snap. So …
I chose to trust Santa. Decade after decade after decade, I’ve defiantly ignored logic and physics and geography and everything else in order to cling to hope. Every Christmas Eve, I wander outside, stare into a cold, black sky dotted with bright, glittery stars and ponder the quiet majesty of the universe. I ask myself, if there can be galaxies and multiverses, exoplanets and invisible light, why is Santa Claus so hard to believe?
He isn’t. I do. And here’s my Christmas List to prove my everlasting faith:
Pretty lofty expectations, wouldn’t you say? Heh, no worries, he can do it. And if he can’t, I think I can manage the boxer shorts. Maybe.
Happy Holidays to You and Yours!
copyright © 2018 the whirly girl
the whirly girl 
6 responses to “: the case for santa claus :”
My mom was so dedicated to keeping the image of Santa alive when I was a kid that she actually got up on the roof, stomping around and jingling bells one Christmas Eve. May the magic of it always be alive.
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Your mom is awesome 🤗
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I hope the big guy was good to you and that you had the Happiest of Christmases.
Sisters can be real…hmmm, it’s Christmas I probably shouldn’t use that word. Mine use to tell me the people we lived with weren’t our real parents. She told me she was from another planet and at night she would turn on her greeneator and to turn green to restore her strength. I use to lie in bed next to this alien and stay awake all night watching for her to turn green. Sisters!
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Santa brought me the thing I wanted most of all: springtime. At least for a day! It was 50 degrees this afternoon, with sunshine even! See? He is real, although so is climate change, I’m afraid. As for sisters, I’m with you — best to let sleeping dogs lie. 😉
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If Santa’s not real, as your sister insists, then who the hell do I follow every year on Google’s Santa Tracker? And it better not be that bloody Amazon delivery driver again!
Merry Christmas to you to Whirly Girl, and have a great 2019. X
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What a delightful comment, thank you, Simon Gale❣️ I’ll think of you when I search ✨🌙 for Santa tomorrow night. I’ll let you know the minute I spot him 🔭
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