I can't remember the moment when I realized that St. Nick was not real. Yes Wheels, he doesn't exist. I do remember however wondering why the guy who travelled the world in one night, made guest appearances at local schools and pageants the weeks before Christmas. Wouldn't it have been easier to just drop the loot then? And we used to get brown paper bags filled with peanuts, and orange, some candy canes and chocolate for going up and sitting on his lap. I knew he was holding out on me.
Another thing that played on my mind was: Why is this fat bastard asking me for what I want when I sent my letter weks ago. Musta been the post office's fault. But the undeniable facts were; that he had the same hand writing as my Mom. I know that dude never made it down our chimney. The poor sonofabitch wouldn't have made it past the damper in the stove pipe. And how would he have made it past Boots without him noticing. This dog could smell an ambush. No racoon ever lived to talk about the time they got away from Boots the dog.
Truth is, I never really believed in Santa. I was far too rational of a person to buy into that stuff. So, as usual I'll wade through droves of people in the malls and pick out gifts for loved ones, and pretend that the old man does exist to those who are still mislead, and long for St. Patrick's day, when Patty the leprechaun will make his usual appearance in my bedroom, perched on my dresser where he rigales me with tales of his home under the earth's crust and instructs me to burn stuff.
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