
I Believe
“Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.”
If you don’t understand what this refers to, then I want to shake your hand. Because where I live the ubiquitous, THEY beat us over the head with the sappy holiday story over and over. I’ll give it a quick once-over for all of you to appreciate it. For those who know it, please hang around. This won’t be long.
It seems little Virginia was being bullied for believing in Santa. Instead of learning Karate and beating the snot out of those bullies, or trying to destroy them on social media, like a woman of today would do. She wrote to the newspaper, like nobody does anymore. Hey it was 1897 and Facebook hadn’t destroyed the world yet.

Anyway, a guy named Francis Church told her to keep believing in Santa and the magic of youth and Christmas. Of course, with a name like Francis he was probably bullied for believing in the big man as well. But it turns out he was the editor of a newspaper. Back then people trusted newspapers, even when they spoke of aliens, the amazing frog boy, and mythical North Pole communities. It was a simpler time.
Although I will admit, supermarket tabloids outsell my local newspaper by three-to-one. This tells me folks are more interested in Uranus, (pun completely intended) than what’s going on with the asses in government. Enough said about that. Allow me to continue.
But I have some reservations
First of all, let me state categorically that like Francis, I believe in Santa. I buy into the whole thing; Elves, Toys and all. Sadly, around this time of year my children like to talk about how they believed and then lost faith, but I stand tall. Besides, I’m still the one who controls the purse strings. For my people this is a major motivator, for them not to argue too much.
Thing is, even with my pure childlike, and possibly idiotic belief, I have to concede some of their points. Take the suit for example. Legend tells us it’s red trimmed in white fur. By best guess Santa’s been around for about five-hundred years. Fur is biodegradable. The elements and bacteria would have destroyed it years ago. The suit would probably have been wool and shared the same fate. That original couldn’t have lasted more than a hundred fifty years at best.

Then again, the old guy is pretty progressive. I doubt he’d even think about wearing any animal products. He’d be heavily into sustainable synthetics. Now-a-days, I bet he wears a waterproof parka, and Thinsulate gloves.
Stay warm
Another thing, that stocking cap with the pom-pom doesn’t even cover his ears. I have to believe he now wears one of those funky hunting caps with earflaps. Remember at the speed he travels, he needs to keep warm.
Then there’s the whole milk and cookies thing. Maybe, maybe not. I happen to know for a fact that a shot of dark rum or Irish whiskey in a glass of milk is a great way to stay warm. Yes, I do believe in Santa and the bottle or two he takes along on his midnight ride. How else do you explain that, “His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry” as quoted by Clement Moore?
Frankly we don’t have a clue what the big guy dresses like. Nobodies ever seen him. That’s the magic. We owe our image of the old man to a Coca Cola advertising executive from 1931. I’m betting he actually wears a heavy camo jacket and a pair of laced up Timberland boots. The camo’s why nobody’s ever seen the guy. As for the beard, it could go either way, but I’m guessing it’s not fluffy and snow white after five-hundred years. It’s probably more like the twins from Z Z Top.

And about that list
Then there’s the omnipresent list. He makes it. He checks it twice. Then he judges everybody. That kind of authoritarianism may have worked in the nineteenth century, but in the enlightened twenty-first, it’s just not happening. I figure he has to be a whole lot more loosey-goosey on the naughty / nice thing, just to remain politically correct.
Then again, just how bad is it to be on the naughty list? What is the true impact of a kid being naughty? There are about two-billion children under ten. That’s the Claus meister target demographic. You’re only under his influence for about eleven percent of your life. Plus, he only shows up one day a year. This translates to; You have to suffer to be good, in the hopes of being rewarded on possibly eleven days of your life. Any money-man in the world would tell it’s not worth the investment.
If I’m naughty all year long, I receive the joy of that naughtiness every day. But I’m on the list. Christmas comes and I get the shaft, or coal as it were. Drat! For one day I don’t get rewarded. Then again, I could throw the coal at my sister and glean some happiness from that. With naughtiness there are so many more options that nice never even thinks about.

Be true to yourself
The other day I saw a lady wearing a shirt that read, “Santa, I can explain!!” That’s bull crap! You don’t need to explain yourself. If he’s going to be judgy, let him. You have three-hundred-sixty-four other days to get presents from one of the other seven billion folks on this planet. Then again, the lady was well over the age threshold. Santa probably wasn’t even paying any attention.
I’m not telling you to be naughty. Frankly, I want you all to be nice. It makes things so much easier for idiots like me. But, if naughty works for you, embrace it. Loosen that cap on the restaurant salt shaker if you want. Slam on the brakes while driving the fast lane. Eat the last snickerdoodle leaving only unfrosted sugar cookies for the rest of the family. Just don’t shy away when you’re accused. That’s the problem with folks today. They want to be naughty, but also want to look as though they were nice. It’s no wonder so many millennials can’t figure themselves out.
I just wanted in
Then there’s the whole chimney thing. I believe in a magic Santa but not that. You could easily buy a complete set of lockpicks at any hardware store well into the 1950’s. If he’s been doing the presents gig for a few hundred years, he could certainly have gotten practice using them. It’s a good thing he’s not on the naughty list. All those Santa stories would have been on the True Crime channel, or America’s Most Wanted.
“Tonight, we need your help in capturing a notorious burglar. He’s broken into seventeen billion homes that we know of. With many more possible. All robberies occurred on Christmas eve. We don’t have an accurate description, but he may be wearing a red suit and sporting a long white beard. If you see him call the number on your screen. Police don’t think he’s dangerous as he only steals milk, cookies and reindeer food. Even so…”
Please Use Extreme Caution Around This Man!!
As an added bonus, Here’s the newest Mr Ohh! Holiday song

Wow! Wow! I truly enjoyed this humour, buddy.
Santa lore with a warm grin and questionable wisdom.
Belief stays intact, logic gets gently roasted, and the naughty–nice system clearly needs a software update.
Between sustainable Santa fashion, coal economics, and chimney skepticism, the message lands perfectly: enjoy the magic, question the nonsense, and stop pretending sainthood is a year-round job.
This brought a smile early this morning.
Thank you for this😀😀
Merry Christmas 🎄🎁
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I enjoyed the song. And we really don’t want Santa arrested or you’ll be talking about ‘The Year Without A Santa Clause ‘.
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Santa breaks in and everyone’s happy, I do it a couple times and I’m a problem…
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But do you take more than just cookies?🤣😎🙃
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Well, I didn’t want to comment until I listened to your song all the way through. Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say. That was quite a song.
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I call it a different night before Christmas
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That’s a good name.
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Yes, but only every single time 😅
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Well that’s it. When you break in, take the cookies instead of cash. Then folks will love you and tell stories for years. 🤣😎🙃
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Oh I see, so take the cookies and only a little cash…
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Great song. 🤣😎🙃
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I’m with Herb. I’m laughing though.
Thank you for joining the Awww Mondays Blog Hop.
Have a fabulous Awww Monday and week. 🙂
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Thank you for joining the Wordless Wednesday Blog Hop.
Have a fabulous Wordless Wednesday. 🙂
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This was great! Happy WW!
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I think it must have been the Irish whiskey that led to that kid seeing his mommy kissing Santa that one year.
And imagine if we lived in a cannibalistic culture – the song might have been called “I saw Mommy Dishing Santa Claus”. That would be disturbing. And probably distasteful, too.
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No arguments here. But the kid was probably under age for Irish whiskey. More likely he got some of uncle Bob’s eggnog. 🤣😎🙃
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Do people who refuse to build chimneys end up on the naughty list?
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Santa doesn’t care he’s breaking in anyway. 🤣😎🙃
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