Nearly two hundred years ago a poem was published that impacted my life more than any poem ever written. Each December, for the first nine years of my life, I looked forward in childlike wonder to a visit from a jolly old man/elf with the ability to bring me things I wanted; things he and his workers had made, and stamped with the brand names of major manufacturers; things that he was able to transport from the polar regions of the planet via a flying sleigh, pulled by flying reindeer; a sleigh that also carried gifts requested by every boy and girl on the planet; delivered in one magical night. He entered my house through the chimney of the fireplace. The fact that I lived in a house with no fireplace or chimney did not prevent him from doing so. I left him milk and a Mr. Goodbar on the kitchen table, and he never failed to eat and drink my offering of gratitude. I would see him at malls, and on street corners throughout the month of December. The fact that he should be busy making presents for me did not prevent him from spending hours each day at Greenbriar and South Dekalb malls, visiting with children like me and promising us our wishes would be fulfilled. He could simultaneously be collecting money in a bucket in front of the Richway department store in Jonesboro, and the J .C. Penney Outlet in Forest Park. He was an amazing man/elf/angel who never disappointed. Until. Until the fateful day in November, 1973, when I found myself snooping in the back corner of my parents' walk-in bedroom closet. There, hidden behind hanging clothes, and covered by a blanket, were the very things I expected the magic man to unload from his reindeer drawn flying sleigh, bring down our non-existent chimney, and place beneath the beautifully decorated artificial tree we placed in our living room. I confronted my mother. In a matter of minutes, nine years of belief, of faith, of certainty in the one who never failed to deliver was shattered. It was all a ruse. Not once had I doubted, and it was all a big fat lie; a myth; a cruel practical joke played on me and millions of other children by the ones we trusted most: our parents, our teachers, stores, books, television; even the Salvation Army.
Why? How?
Why would people perpetuate a lie, year after year? And then, why would the ones upon whom the joke was played do the same to the next generation, and the next? How could it happen among the most advanced species of creatures living on Earth? The species that cured diseases, harnessed the power of electricity, created indoor plumbing, built vehicles that really CAN fly around world, and without the benefit of magic reindeer; how could they do such a thing...and with the most sincere and loving intentions?
A story, written a long time ago, purportedly by a father for his sick daughter, only intending to make her happy, and then maybe make some money by publishing what everyone then knew was a fairy tale... how could this become the basis for a belief system that would both stimulate, and then later crush the faith of millions of children over the course of two centuries?
What scares me most about the cruel joke is that it is in fact a perfect case study, a grand experiment, proving that our species is prone to both accept and perpetuate ruses. I believed in Santa Claus. We are quick to believe whatever a trusted source tells us. We are even quicker to believe when what is taught feeds a need or narrative that brings joy, or comfort, or assurance, or explanation and understanding when otherwise it cannot be found. When the ruse from the trusted source is reinforced by community and society it becomes almost impossible not to believe it. Absurdities become foundations of faith, nonsense becomes the source of our hopes and dreams. A similar ruse, when promoted by an non-trusted source, community, or society seems, as it should, absurd. The myth of Krampus is beyond belief. There could never be a half -man, half-goat. We know it is biologically and physiologically impossible, and morally reprehensible to even consider. But, the crazy Europeans, especially in Eastern Europe, they'll believe anything. But not so for our ruse. Our ruse makes perfectly good sense. The presents are there on December 25th. The two hundred year old story told me they would be, and there they are. My parents obviously believe it, or they would not have told me. The mall does not lie. Nor does the television or the Salvation Army. The fact that the reindeer fly and the chimney exists only one night a year is something I just have to accept...wait, no, it's something I should embrace. The story has stood the test of time. Clement Moore was a first hand witness to that of which he wrote.
I can and will be happy just as long as I believe.
All I have to do is believe....and never go snooping in the bedroom closet.
Why? How?
Why would people perpetuate a lie, year after year? And then, why would the ones upon whom the joke was played do the same to the next generation, and the next? How could it happen among the most advanced species of creatures living on Earth? The species that cured diseases, harnessed the power of electricity, created indoor plumbing, built vehicles that really CAN fly around world, and without the benefit of magic reindeer; how could they do such a thing...and with the most sincere and loving intentions?
A story, written a long time ago, purportedly by a father for his sick daughter, only intending to make her happy, and then maybe make some money by publishing what everyone then knew was a fairy tale... how could this become the basis for a belief system that would both stimulate, and then later crush the faith of millions of children over the course of two centuries?
What scares me most about the cruel joke is that it is in fact a perfect case study, a grand experiment, proving that our species is prone to both accept and perpetuate ruses. I believed in Santa Claus. We are quick to believe whatever a trusted source tells us. We are even quicker to believe when what is taught feeds a need or narrative that brings joy, or comfort, or assurance, or explanation and understanding when otherwise it cannot be found. When the ruse from the trusted source is reinforced by community and society it becomes almost impossible not to believe it. Absurdities become foundations of faith, nonsense becomes the source of our hopes and dreams. A similar ruse, when promoted by an non-trusted source, community, or society seems, as it should, absurd. The myth of Krampus is beyond belief. There could never be a half -man, half-goat. We know it is biologically and physiologically impossible, and morally reprehensible to even consider. But, the crazy Europeans, especially in Eastern Europe, they'll believe anything. But not so for our ruse. Our ruse makes perfectly good sense. The presents are there on December 25th. The two hundred year old story told me they would be, and there they are. My parents obviously believe it, or they would not have told me. The mall does not lie. Nor does the television or the Salvation Army. The fact that the reindeer fly and the chimney exists only one night a year is something I just have to accept...wait, no, it's something I should embrace. The story has stood the test of time. Clement Moore was a first hand witness to that of which he wrote.
I can and will be happy just as long as I believe.
All I have to do is believe....and never go snooping in the bedroom closet.
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