Santa: the Mythological King of Patriarchy (Yeah, you heard me)
So, as I was saying, I asked him what Santa gifts he had. He looked at me sort of dumbfounded...as if he didn't exactly know what I was talking about. Little A was in a far back room changing and the only other people in the room clearly couldn't hear two inches past their face, so there was no danger in letting out classified information. He just looked dumbfounded and I tried to control my eyeballs that were begging to roll around in my head. Luckily, this year, I've already made up for his lame ass showing and she should be perfectly delighted if he shows up with a smelly piece of cheese.
But here's the real pisser. I NEVER wanted to do this Santa nonsense. No offense to anyone who does it and ENJOYS it, but my parents never did it, and I was perfectly fine with that. I saw no reason to partake in the fiasco of Santa Claus with Little A. I always loved Christmas WITHOUT him. Our Christmas was far more about traditions and family time than anything else and I knew I could make that happen with Little A.
But S and S's family....oh MY! How dare I even THINK such a thing??? They basically acted like I was trying to rob my child of her childhood by even conceiving of eliminating Santa from our own personal Christmas and made it clear that they would enforce Santa in some way, with or without me. I really didn't care (at least as much as those psychos did), so I said fine....WHATEVER....we'll do Santa. And BOY, have I regretted it EVER since.
EVERY year, I've taken Little A to see Santa, S...nada. EVERY year I've totally overspent trying to keep the magic alive while trying to give Little A gifts from me that tell her how I love her. S has pretty much shown up with some stupid addition and pretends to be the big god damn hero. EVERY year I've been in a hellish flurry of shopping trying to find that last little thing that would complete the magic. Last year, it was the damn bell from Polar Express. Don't get me wrong, I think its a lovely little movie, but I'm sure that every stinking kid who saw it made that last minute wish for the bell. I looked EVERYWHERE for the bell. Finally I had to buy a Valentines door hanger from JoAnn's....because they were the ONLY bells left in this country. I cut off the heart....tied the bells together and included a note saying the were Rudolph's bells...he especially wanted Little A to have them because he'd been watching her all year and thought she was glorious. It was Christmas torture at its finest.
So, as I was lying in bed last night, totally pissed off that I had missed almost a whole day of knitting because of hellish stomach ache and thinking about what a putz S is, I had a revelation. Santa is not JUST the idol of commercialism, a potential pedophile, or even a red nosed drunk. SANTA IS THE MYTHOLOGICAL KING OF PATRIARCHY. That's right. Mothers throughout the land drive themselves to exhaustion just to maintain the reputation of this big, fat, white guy who does SHIT! We shop, we bake cookies, we search countless stores for a god damned bell...and what does Santa do?? Gives a jolly laugh and takes all the credit??? Oh wait...AND HE GETS PAID FOR IT. Santas everywhere get paid to pass out candy canes while mothers everywhere still get squat for doing all the work. I'm so over Santa. And I am quite convinced that I might start to enjoy Christmas again once he's out of the picture.
But there you go....the REAL clincher. Not only does Santa enslave every mother in the shopping and baking shackles, he also makes it impossible to break those shackles. Listen, my kid SOBBED, more than once, over a tooth. A TOOTH! What the hell do you all think she's going to do when she makes the grand realization that Santa is all bullshit? Do we think that
Ok....I just had to get that out. Now we'll return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
"...all seem to say, Throw cares away, Christmas is here, Bringing good...."