I graduated from the University of the North Pole in 1992. I was in the top five of my graduation class. I’ve been one of Mr Kringle’s main guys for the last twenty years.
Hazel told me that she doesn’t believe in Santa Claus this week.
Ten years old and she has lost her belief in the man that holds the Spirit of Christmas together. I blame Taylor Swift and Roblox.
Their whole life, the kids have seen me sneak out of the house as Santa Claus.
I didn’t lie to them.
Santa Claus can’t be all over the world before Christmas talking to children. He can’t be at a hospital and a shopping mall at the same time. So he has a college for men to learn how to be Santa. I was picked personally by the Big Man to enroll when I was a young man.
I’ve been to Santa’s workshop. I’ve flown across Bethlehem on the auxiliary sled during Christmas. I’ve fed Donner and Blitzen and I’ve packed Santa’s bag on December 23rd.
This all came crashing down on Wednesday when Hazel told me she knows Santa doesn’t exist.
Wednesday, the 20th of December in the year of 2023. Hazel became a nonbeliever. The bells will never ring for her again.
She can find something else to do tonight. I’m not renting that Taylor Swift concert movie this weekend.
She accused me of calling and texting my personal phone from my work phone. She thinks I have “Santa Claus” listed on my contacts on my Futures-International work phone. The phone that I use to sell thousands of soybeans or buy bushels upon bushels of corn. Compliance would reprimand me if they found out I was using that phone for the Naughty and Nice List.
Pretty good deception if I say so myself. When the kids would start jagging around, I would leave my cell phone laying nearby. Then I’d walk away and text it from another room.
Then I’d listen…..
Everytime, Everytime the jagging around would end with the words,
“Dad….Dad….Dad! Santa is texting you!”
Whenever we would be in the grocery store or Target and the kids start to jag around…. I’d point at a fire alarm on the wall or hanging from the ceiling….Santa Claus camera!
I’ve created a George Orwell police state, but Big Brother isn’t watching. Santa Claus is watching.
It’s not, “you better not pout, you better not cry” in Chicagoland. It’s more like, “Quit jagging around! Look right there! That’s a Santa camera…. You just put yourself on the Naughty!”
“…. But Dad, can’t you talk to Santa and get us back on the Nice?”
And with an honest reply I always said, “you gotta be shitting me? That is lying and I could be expelled from Santa’s team!”
I knew that I’d eventually have to send the Shepkids to therapy once they realized that dad wasn’t buddies with the Big Man.
But this week I realized that it is me that will be going to therapy.
When Hazel dropped the bomb on me Wednesday…. I came back and asked her one question.
Do you think this Taylor Swift broad will gives two shits if you’re having a bad day at school?
SHE WON'T…… but Santa sure as hell will. Santa always has your back.
I guess I should be prepared today when I meet TL for a quick beer at the Joyce…..
….. and I tell Hazel that I have a quick checklist meeting with Santa and she says, “Tell Mr TL hello.”
My baby girl no longer believes that I’m a UNP alum.
Devastating, just devastating!
Guess what Hazelnut! Santa does exist and TL works for him as well and the James Joyce is a portal to the North Pole!
