Stupid Kids and Magic

Nothing about this makes sense.   Of all the malls in the world, why would he choose this one?  How does he have time to do this all day with Christmas so close?  Where are his reindeer?  How did he get here? 

I had so many questions and as usual, adults always give a one word answer that is intended to wrap up all of life's mysteries with a neatly tied bow.

Magic, she said. 

Faith, he replied.

These answers were easier to digest, I suppose, than the storks response mom gave when I asked where babies came from years earlier.   Come to think of it, storks was the first time I was introduced to the oversimplification adults provide when kids present them with the natural curiosity within us.

I stood in line with all the other kids for two hours so I could tell Santa what I wanted for Christmas and more importantly, get my picture taken with him.   For an eight year old, having your picture taken with Santa is akin to adults on social media who take selfies with any given celebrity they happen to run into around town.   Celebrity worship begins at an early age.

The only thing I really remember about my two hours of standing in line for the one and only time I ever met Santa was the stupidity of most kids.   Want to know if your kid is smart?  If he questions everything.  Intelligence can be measured by the number of whys one asks.  

Critical thinking skills aren't as common as they should be.  Don't believe me?  We now have people begging the government to stop "fake news".   Just think about that for a minute.  Instead of just using your own critical thinking skills and your own ability to research things, people would rather have a corrupt and dishonest institution called government simply tell them what is real and what is not.

But I digress...

Okay, so maybe, I was a little snob as a kid.  As an only child of a single mother constantly showered with compliments from adults who were overcompensating because of the perceived "tragic" upbringing I was "enduring", I was led to believe I was smarter and better looking than all the other kids.

I stood in line that Saturday to meet Santa as mom roamed the mall.  Kids my age, screaming at the mere sight of Santa.  One might think Tiffany or some boy band was at the mall that day due to the noise these Santa fans were making.

"Hey, how did Santa get here from the North Pole?  How does he visit so many stores and malls in one day?", I asked this girl in front of me.

"Magic", she replied.

"But when does he sleep?  He's everywhere... Every mall, store, on TV and still has to go to every house in one week.  Don't old people have to be in bed by 6:00 (after wheel of fortune)?" 

"He's magical", she repeated.

I was getting nowhere.  I was surrounded by stupid kids who could only answer my well thought out questions with one word.

Eventually, it was my turn to sit on Santa's lap.

Santa asked me my name.  His nicotine stained teeth and Marlboro breath was more than I could handle. 

"Should you really be smoking when you have so much to do in the next week?   You're gonna get asthma like me." 

Santa pretty much ignored my line of questioning.  

What do you want for Christmas, young boy?

An Air Jammer Road Rammer, please.

He then promised to do his best.  My Santa selfie was taken by one of his helpers and I was sent on my way.

One week later, Christmas was here.  There were so many presents for me.  Single moms of an only child tend to spoil that kid.  Maybe, its out of guilt.  I don't know.

Underwear.  A clip on tie.  T-Shirts.  A new King James Bible with my name engraved inside.  Everything a boy doesn't want for Christmas was there for me.

Before I could throw my entitled tantrum, mom handed me one last present.

Santa wanted me to give this to you last.  Here you go, son.

And there it was... My Air Jammer Road Rammer.

Magic.

Indeed.