Earlier today I discussed the similarities between the myths of Santa Claus and the Christian God figure. In terms of the former, most children outgrow the fantasy between the ages of 6 - 10, though I once knew a boy of 12 who still believed it with all his might!
When most of us came to grips with the fraud that had been perpetrated upon us, we experienced a mix of emotions. Often, the first emotion is anger. "Why have the most trusted people in my life been running this sham around me?" we ask. "I'm a big boy or girl. Why didn't you tell me the truth?"
A second emotion is embarrassment. We wonder how on earth we could have fallen hook, line and sinker for this fairy tale for so long. I remember my friend Greg trying to convince me that he'd known about this fallacy all along. Yah, right. That's why he was sitting on Santa's lap just last Christmas season!
But I think the biggest emotion felt is abject disappointment. The story of St. Nick, Mrs. Claus, the elves and the flying reindeer is so sweet and poetic that it's really sad that it can't be true. We each want to believe there is unconditional goodness in the world and, to many children, that kind of goodness is exemplified in Kris Kringle.
I certainly can tell you that disappointment was the primary emotion I exhibited upon the realization that Santa Claus was about as real as Casper the Friendly Ghost. It actually made me rather despondent and, to this day, Christmas just isn't the same. It lost its luster for me during that time over 40 years ago.
However, I had one other reaction that I think most likely is atypical -- If I'm wrong about this, I'd sure like to hear about it. For nearly 20 years after realizing Santa didn't exist, I thought long and hard about becoming Santa Claus myself.
Of course, each time I sat down to think this idea out rationally, I realized it was an impossibility. There were simply too many aspects of this folk tale that defied the laws of nature. But every few years, I continued to contemplate it. I think I did this, if for no other reason, than because the world really could use a bona fide Santa Claus.
Who knows? Maybe next year I'll move to the North Pole.
When most of us came to grips with the fraud that had been perpetrated upon us, we experienced a mix of emotions. Often, the first emotion is anger. "Why have the most trusted people in my life been running this sham around me?" we ask. "I'm a big boy or girl. Why didn't you tell me the truth?"
A second emotion is embarrassment. We wonder how on earth we could have fallen hook, line and sinker for this fairy tale for so long. I remember my friend Greg trying to convince me that he'd known about this fallacy all along. Yah, right. That's why he was sitting on Santa's lap just last Christmas season!
But I think the biggest emotion felt is abject disappointment. The story of St. Nick, Mrs. Claus, the elves and the flying reindeer is so sweet and poetic that it's really sad that it can't be true. We each want to believe there is unconditional goodness in the world and, to many children, that kind of goodness is exemplified in Kris Kringle.
I certainly can tell you that disappointment was the primary emotion I exhibited upon the realization that Santa Claus was about as real as Casper the Friendly Ghost. It actually made me rather despondent and, to this day, Christmas just isn't the same. It lost its luster for me during that time over 40 years ago.
However, I had one other reaction that I think most likely is atypical -- If I'm wrong about this, I'd sure like to hear about it. For nearly 20 years after realizing Santa didn't exist, I thought long and hard about becoming Santa Claus myself.
Of course, each time I sat down to think this idea out rationally, I realized it was an impossibility. There were simply too many aspects of this folk tale that defied the laws of nature. But every few years, I continued to contemplate it. I think I did this, if for no other reason, than because the world really could use a bona fide Santa Claus.
Who knows? Maybe next year I'll move to the North Pole.
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