Santa Claus Must Die Peace Project
I remember the moment when I was told by a sneering eleven-year-old that Santa Claus wasn't real. That cold rush of dread as first you try to grasp this terrible new reality is soon replaced by a much colder feeling. The feeling of betrayal. For years my mother had expounded the truth of Santa Claus and now I had just found out that she had been feeding me a lie. Mind you, being a critically-minded child I had always had my reservations. I remember tearfully refusing to sit on the knee of the red and white bearded man who wanted me to tell him my secret desires for Christmas. If that terrifying stranger was Santa Claus then great. Fine. But there ain't enough candy canes in this whole planet to make me go near him. Besides, my mother had always warned me against strangers. Particularly ones offering sweets.
So when I was finally told the truth I came to a horrible realisation. My mother, my closest flesh and blood, the one I trusted above all others had lied to me. And it was a big lie too. I couldn't even see the motivation behind the lie - was it just for her own amusement? Was it some big conspiracy against children so that at P & C meetings our parents can all roll around laughing as they talk about how gullible their stupid kids are? Or was it even more sinister - like a mind-control device intended to inspire good behaviour with the reminder that Santa knows who is naughty or who is nice?
I have a vague recollection of confronting my mother about the issue. I was young and did not have the vocabulary to adequately express my emotion but I think the look of betrayal said enough. My childhood had ended that day. My mother had unwittingly shoved me into a new troubled era for me where I could no longer trust those who were closest to me. Further, I noticed over ensuing years that the lies our mothers and fathers had told us had taught us all to lie to each other. We'd humiliate one another with stories of drop-bears and vampires and things that live under our beds. Paranoia and anxiety saturated the playground at lunch hour. Nobody could be trusted. The truth was now as cheap as musk sticks and just as easy to bend or break. What was worse was when I first told a lie to my mother and she smacked me as a punishment. In horror I looked at her, tears of confusion welling up in my eyes as I said angrily, "But you lied to me first!" My mother tried to justify the Santa Claus lie but it was a cheap defense. After all, I was the vulnerable one. She was there to protect me yet she had deceived me from an early age with a lie she had never intended to reveal as so. My lie about what happened to my homework was so insignificant compared to that. And I had so much more reason to lie. I was avoiding punishment! But my mother had lied out of a careless want of amusement - and out of supreme disrespect of me.
And now, I have come to realise that if the myth of Santa Claus is destroyed once and for all then children might never suffer this height of betrayal ever again. Furthermore, children might not ever learn to lie. They may even begin to respect their parents and each other by never telling lies solely for their own amusement. Within a generation, the death of Santa Claus could eradicate mistrust, paranoia and anxiety in playgrounds nationwide. Who knows where this could lead us? It doesn't take too much of a stretch of the imagination to realise that the death of Santa Claus might revolutionise human relations - perhaps even bring about world peace? And so, upon this argument I have resolved to found the Kill Santa Claus Peace Project.
The only problem is that no-one has been successful in assassinating a mythical figure before. But I've found a solution. A new myth needs to be born to supercede the old. It must be so believable and so shocking that all the children of the world will no longer believe Santa will ever scramble up or down a chimney again. The myth will become so pervasive that parents will be forced to stop saying Santa exists because children will have already heard that he is dead.
Stay tuned for the second part of the Santa Must Die Peace Project.
So when I was finally told the truth I came to a horrible realisation. My mother, my closest flesh and blood, the one I trusted above all others had lied to me. And it was a big lie too. I couldn't even see the motivation behind the lie - was it just for her own amusement? Was it some big conspiracy against children so that at P & C meetings our parents can all roll around laughing as they talk about how gullible their stupid kids are? Or was it even more sinister - like a mind-control device intended to inspire good behaviour with the reminder that Santa knows who is naughty or who is nice?
I have a vague recollection of confronting my mother about the issue. I was young and did not have the vocabulary to adequately express my emotion but I think the look of betrayal said enough. My childhood had ended that day. My mother had unwittingly shoved me into a new troubled era for me where I could no longer trust those who were closest to me. Further, I noticed over ensuing years that the lies our mothers and fathers had told us had taught us all to lie to each other. We'd humiliate one another with stories of drop-bears and vampires and things that live under our beds. Paranoia and anxiety saturated the playground at lunch hour. Nobody could be trusted. The truth was now as cheap as musk sticks and just as easy to bend or break. What was worse was when I first told a lie to my mother and she smacked me as a punishment. In horror I looked at her, tears of confusion welling up in my eyes as I said angrily, "But you lied to me first!" My mother tried to justify the Santa Claus lie but it was a cheap defense. After all, I was the vulnerable one. She was there to protect me yet she had deceived me from an early age with a lie she had never intended to reveal as so. My lie about what happened to my homework was so insignificant compared to that. And I had so much more reason to lie. I was avoiding punishment! But my mother had lied out of a careless want of amusement - and out of supreme disrespect of me.
And now, I have come to realise that if the myth of Santa Claus is destroyed once and for all then children might never suffer this height of betrayal ever again. Furthermore, children might not ever learn to lie. They may even begin to respect their parents and each other by never telling lies solely for their own amusement. Within a generation, the death of Santa Claus could eradicate mistrust, paranoia and anxiety in playgrounds nationwide. Who knows where this could lead us? It doesn't take too much of a stretch of the imagination to realise that the death of Santa Claus might revolutionise human relations - perhaps even bring about world peace? And so, upon this argument I have resolved to found the Kill Santa Claus Peace Project.
The only problem is that no-one has been successful in assassinating a mythical figure before. But I've found a solution. A new myth needs to be born to supercede the old. It must be so believable and so shocking that all the children of the world will no longer believe Santa will ever scramble up or down a chimney again. The myth will become so pervasive that parents will be forced to stop saying Santa exists because children will have already heard that he is dead.
Stay tuned for the second part of the Santa Must Die Peace Project.
