Saturday, December 11, 2004

Why you shouldn't lie

to your children. Every year around this time, parents all over take their children to see Santa Clause.

This was called "ass beating" time in my house hold, as I would usually practically get an ass beating every time they took me to see Santa. No, my parents didn't hit us, but it usually ended up in an embarrassing display that made my Mom want to crawl under a rock, and she'd be upset. If we would have ever gotten ass beatings, I surely would have after visiting Santa a couple of times. I never knew why, until now.

When I was four I had out the big Wish Book making my list for Santa. I could read and write by 3, so I did quite well all by myself. My Mom saw that I was on page 3 (not in the Wish Book, but on my list) and tried to explain that I could not get all those things.

All those toys cost money, and she told me they didn't have a lot of money this year. I didn't understand this, as Santa brought all this stuff and his Elves made it all. My Mom told me that Santa woke them up and they had to write him a check after he delivered the presents, so I had to only ask for the things I truly wanted.

This made sense to me I guess, even though I then thought Santa was a cheap bastard.

So off we went to go see Santa at my Mom's store. She was the manager of a drug store, and Santa was going to be there. To let you all in on a little secret that I didn't know at the time, Santa was her boss, not the real Santa (I still believe in him, shut up).

I patiently (ok, that's a lie, patient was the last thing I was as a child) waited in line with all the other kids. Then came my turn.

"And what do you want for Christmas kj?" Santa asked. "A Barbie and a Tree House Family," I replied. "Oh certainly you want something more then that?" he asked.

"No, that's all I want," I said, feeling uncomfortable that Santa was pushing me into asking for other things. "How about a nice EZ bake oven, all the little girls are asking for that," Santa said. "I don't want an EZ bake oven! I just want a Barbie and a Tree House Family!" I was really starting to get pissed off now.

"How about a nice baby doll? A bike? Isn't there anything else you want?" I felt like a soldier being tortured by the enemy at this point, but I wasn't going to crack. Santa and his master plan of taking all my parents money wasn't going to work.

"I TOLD YOU I DON'T WANT ANYTHING ELSE! WE ARE POOR THIS YEAR! MY PARENTS CAN'T AFFORD TO PAY YOU SO LEAVE ME ALONE!" With this little outburst, I got off Santa's lap, kicked him in the shin with my shiny, black patent leather shoes, and was promptly dragged out of the store by my angry and humiliated Mother.

She tried to control her anger, oh how she tried. She yelled at me the whole way home, and I was confused. Santa was a demanding bitch that wouldn't leave me alone. He was trying to take our money that we didn't even have!

So in the end it was explained that I was in trouble because I had been disrespectful to an adult, even if he was trying to take our money it was wrong. I was grounded for a week,to solitary confinement in my room.

Man did I hate Santa Clause that year. Greedy bastard.

It's late, so I'll tell you what happened when I was six tomorrow. To give a bit of a teaser, we went to a different Santa (I wonder why) that next year, and when we left I had every kid in line howling and crying. I was grounded for 2 weeks that year...

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