Once upon a time there was a little black girl growing up in the inner city. This little black girl’s family didn’t have much, but they had each other and that’s what mattered most to her. Growing up in the inner city can be quite challenging and being naïve could equate to a short, messed up life for a kid. So her parents decided to break her in early with a poignant reality check, no lil T there is no Santa Claus.
WHAT?!!!!!
There is no Santa Claus, he’s just a made up character, a symbol of everything commercialized and evil in this country. Xmas is the corporate man’s holiday made to make people spend all of their money and worship a fat white guy in a red suit.
but what about baby Jesus and the wise men and stuff???
We can still celebrate the birth of Christ without worshiping the fat man.
and Rudolph?????
That would border on animal cruelty IF he were real, which he isn’t, and reindeer can’t fly.
…
And there began the scar that would stay with me, I mean the little black girl, FOREVER! Because for me, I remember believing so hard in Santa Claus that I thought I could really hear him on our roof. We didn’t have a chimney, but I knew Santy would make a way because I believed in magic and all things magical. I believed that it was possible for him to make it to all the children, especially the poor children who didn’t have anything and give them a little holiday cheer. I believed in impossible things and had no problem with that, I never worried. For me, Santy was my childhood equivalence to having faith. And my parents, in trying their best to prepare me for what was really going on, snatched the idea of faith of way. Then grandma would send me to Sunday school where they tried to re-instill that concept of faith in me once again, but I rejected it. I really didn’t believe anything an adult told me unless I could see it for myself, and since you cant see faith, well you can just imagine how this process went.
Eventually I got my faith back, I started to believe in miracles, higher powers and such intangible things. But really I want my Santy back. I want my unwavering belief in something inexplicable back. I want to believe in someone who has the best interests of all. I want to have these beliefs without a shadow of doubt, I want that child like imagination and ability to believe fully with no hindrances. I want my Santy back.
WHAT?!!!!!
There is no Santa Claus, he’s just a made up character, a symbol of everything commercialized and evil in this country. Xmas is the corporate man’s holiday made to make people spend all of their money and worship a fat white guy in a red suit.
but what about baby Jesus and the wise men and stuff???
We can still celebrate the birth of Christ without worshiping the fat man.
and Rudolph?????
That would border on animal cruelty IF he were real, which he isn’t, and reindeer can’t fly.
…
And there began the scar that would stay with me, I mean the little black girl, FOREVER! Because for me, I remember believing so hard in Santa Claus that I thought I could really hear him on our roof. We didn’t have a chimney, but I knew Santy would make a way because I believed in magic and all things magical. I believed that it was possible for him to make it to all the children, especially the poor children who didn’t have anything and give them a little holiday cheer. I believed in impossible things and had no problem with that, I never worried. For me, Santy was my childhood equivalence to having faith. And my parents, in trying their best to prepare me for what was really going on, snatched the idea of faith of way. Then grandma would send me to Sunday school where they tried to re-instill that concept of faith in me once again, but I rejected it. I really didn’t believe anything an adult told me unless I could see it for myself, and since you cant see faith, well you can just imagine how this process went.
Eventually I got my faith back, I started to believe in miracles, higher powers and such intangible things. But really I want my Santy back. I want my unwavering belief in something inexplicable back. I want to believe in someone who has the best interests of all. I want to have these beliefs without a shadow of doubt, I want that child like imagination and ability to believe fully with no hindrances. I want my Santy back.
6 comment(s) thus far...:
Hey Naturally Alise.
Thanks for dropping a comment in the GT Box. It is well appreciated and it keeps me motivated to do what I do...
GT
I found my Santy, she is a 5'3", chocolaty, curly haired cutie pie named Alise, and she has poetry in her big bag, and she rides on a unicorn and glitter follows her wherever she goes.... by the way I really HEART this post, that was awesome! We all need something to believe in, and self is a good start....
WOW! This was a very good blog topic.
Thanks!
Santa Claus isn't real, honey, but there are other things that are cool and imaginative and real (like Alise's unicorn) and the fact that I'm a vampire who sucks your blood while you sleep and my magic powers and trolls.....
I'm glad you got your faith back :-)
It never really hit me that reindeer can't fly until you just said it here. I mean, I haven't believed in Santa in nearly 30 years, but for some reason, that flying reindeer thing still stuck w/me. Hmmm...
Anyway, despite my long separation from the Santa myth, I remember the magical feeling that belief afforded the tiny PBG. It was awesome. Mother went to great lengths to make sure the sibs and I had it for as long as possible. I've allowed Ike n' Tina to make their own discoveries and form their beliefs around these holidays and all on their own, they've decided that [black] Santa is just a symbol of the good stuff of Christmas. I can live w/that.
Great post!
Aww, this post was too cute.
A friend of mine didn't realize that our mutual friends daughter was in the room when she made a comment about Santa not being real. It was the most horrifying scene, hearing the little 6 years old ask, "What?! Santa isn't real?!?!?"
I don't remember ever believing in Santa. I do remember my mom attempting to convince me that Santa was indeed real, but those presents that said "To Nakia, from Santa" in my mom's handwriting didn't help her cause at all.
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