Santa Claus question ...

I just sorta figured it out. Maybe when I was 6 or 7.

 

I once heard reindeer hooves on our rooftop.
First got a clue he might not be real when we were at my uncle's house and Santa Claus visited there Christmas Eve. I got a little bowling ball and bowling pins made out of wood. Anyway, when Santa was leaving, I saw my uncle slip him a jug of Old Stump Puller.
First solid evidence was when the present I got still had the price sticker from the department store.
My dad said when he was young a man with apparently way too many kids was tired of being bugged about Santa Claus. He went and got his shotgun, went outside, touched off two rounds, came back in and declared, "That takes care of Santa Claus." His kids were mortified.

 

I looked it up in the encyclopedia. It said "legendary"

I was a REALLY cool kid, btw.

 

All you haters can enjoy your coal this Christmas!

 

Thanks for saying that, SportsBruh.

 

My dad used to threaten to leave the fire burning in the fireplace all night.

 

Never believed in Santa Claus. There was only one fat man that brought us presents, and it was our Uncle Michael.

 

I heard that one, too.

 

I noticed when I was eight or so that my mom had the exact same handwriting as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Yes, we got notes from the Easter Bunny. We were special.

So I thought that was odd and asked my mother about it and she hemmed and hawwed. I knew the gig was up when I lost a tooth on vacation and got a couple bucks under my pillow. How's the tooth fairy know we were in Old Orchard Beach in Maine? the fuck.

Fast forward a few weeks later...we're shopping at the Big Y and my mom dispatches my sister and I to the frozen food section. "Hey," I say as we're leaning into one of the freezers, "there is no Santa Claus. Mom told me. She writes the notes."

My sister started wailing. To this day I have no idea why I decided to shatter my sister's world right there in the frozen food section of Big Y. I wasn't mad at her and we got along. I guess I was just eight and a shithead. Funny story worth re-telling every Xmas though.

My favorite Santa story happened a few years earlier, when my dad was telling me he woke up and saw Santa putting the presents under the tree. "What happened then?" I said. "I had a beer with him," Dad said. So for the next few years I had this image of my dad and Santa leaning against the sink and drinking bottles of Miller Lite.

 

WTF is Santa doing drinking Miller Lite piss? That dude has how many fridges to raid that he can't get something better than Miller Lite?

 

Maybe my dad was the only nice dad on the block. Ever think of that? Huh?

My dad was on this Miller Lite kick when he was running marathons. Only after he stopped running did he start drinking good shit like microbrews and Sam Adams.

 

It wouldn't have been so bad. But we never did see him put the fire out.