in the fade


  1. No, Virginia. There is no Santa Claus.

    Sorry, but your friends are right, Virginia. Your friends have obviously matured years ahead of you and have developed the cynicism and skepticism which are necessary tools needed to tell the difference between fantasy and fact.

    There is no Santa Claus, Virginia. No fat, jolly man driving a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer (come ON, how old are you? Haven’t they taught you physics yet in school?) around the world in one night (again, what the hell are they teaching you? The world is a damn big place) to deliver toys to well behaved boys and girls. 

    You know what else, Virginia? There are no fairies. There are no wizards.  There’s no Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy either. Learn this shit now, Virginia. I’m giving you a reality check because believing that Santa exists is to delay the inevitable; the lesson that life sucks, nothing is magical and everything hurts. You’re not gonna get some bearded guy in a red velvet suit dropping presents under your tree on Christmas Eve. What are you gonna get is heartbreak, Virginia. Disappointment. Sadness. Anger. Resentment. Those are the hallmarks of life, child. And you need cynicism to deal with them. So sharpen that cynicism now, girl. Get on that. Stop thinking about a world in which there is peace on earth and good will toward men and all the good little children get rewarded for just being a kid. It doesn’t exist. 

    Go ahead, Virginia. Believe in romance and poetry and all that shit. Believe that life is like a movie where everyone lives happily ever after and sugarplum fairies dance in your head at night. Because you’ve got about four years at most before those dancing fairies are replaced by stress nightmares about test scores and college, before the only thing dancing in your head is the image of you standing alone at the dance while the boy you have a crush on gets his grind on with your best friend. Of course, your continued naivety might lead you to believe everything good old Johnny tells you and you’ll end up pregnant and alone at 14, wondering why Santa didn’t leave you a book about birth control under your tree. 

    There’s no god damn Santa Claus, Virginia. Get your head out of your ass and listen to your friends. They know what’s up. They’re the kind of kids who are gonna be prepared when all the ideas of love and harmony and peace and fairy tales fall flat and the world presents itself as a cold, hard place.

    Don’t bother leaving cookies and milk out, child. Just leave a beer for your dad and a Valium for your mom. Then go steal your older sisters’ Smiths records and prepare for the rest of your life. 

    Light the fire in the chimney, Virginia. Santa’s not coming.