Dear Mr. Greg,
My Daddy says you are the biggest know-it-all in Gladstone, so I am writing to ask you if Santa Claus is real? My friends told me that Santa is really Daddy dressed up. From Virginia (aged eight)
No Santa Claus?! Well, the next thing they’ll be telling you is that The Phantom isn’t real! Or Hobbits, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Elves or those blue Avatar thingies. Absurd! What a terrible world they must live in; a world without magic, enchantment, wonder, amazement, and fun. Or, for that matter, mind controlling medication and regular shock treatments.
Virginia there are plenty of mysterious creatures and unexplained phenomena still left in this digitally enhanced, cynicism soaked world. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. For example, I’ve never seen God, been able to find a pair of matching socks in my drawers, caught a reef fish in the marina, or found the mythical beast called ‘Full Mobile Coverage’, but I’ve been reliably informed that such things do exist.
And Virginia, if the scribblings of some of my fellow columnists are any indication, then I think they believe too. Why, Mr. Moose frequently sees pink elephants, Mrs. Carnivale is often away with the fairies, and Mr. Micko, the Elder Statesman of these column pages, has seen a space ship! Trust me Virginia, believing in Santa Claus is the least of our problems…
So, ‘Yes’ Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and I hope you look forward to Christmas with joy and delight for many years to come, because if there is one thing this cold, hard world needs, it’s more children like you living in wide eyed wonder. It will almost make us adults feel like it’s worth the effort getting crushed at checkouts and experiencing credit card melt down, while the Summer heat saps away any feelings of goodwill towards our fellow man; particularly towards those selfish cretins who keep stealing my parking spots!
And speaking of goodwill to all men; this Christmas Eve Virginia, I want you to add lots of tasty laxative chocolate powder to Santa’s’ milk, but don’t tell anyone! Next morning after you’ve opened your presents, tell your Daddy through the toilet door that ‘Mr. Know-It-All’ says “Hello!”
Ho! Ho! Ho!