When we’re little, fairy tales are used to teach us important lessons. A book of fairy tales is full of fanciful characters and large illustrations to keep the young mind entertained and interested in learning. These stories serve a good and noble purpose.
When we’re young, our parents teach us about the myth of Santa Claus. We believe in him until we’re mature enough to know that his story can’t be true. An old, fat man in a red suit, visiting every house in the world within one night’s time? Riding a sleigh powered by flying reindeer? How old do you have to be to comprehend that Santa Claus’s story defies the laws of physics?
Sure, a very long time ago, there could have lived a man who gave children presents every year, basically creating the myth of Santa Claus that lives on today. But if this man existed, he didn’t fly around in the sky and squeeze through every child’s chimney.
I understand traditions, but I have to wonder about Santa Claus. Why would it be better for parents to make up a story of a red-suited stranger invading their home and leaving presents for their children, than to be honest and just say the gifts were from them? Why give some made-up dude all the credit? For the entertainment of the children? What are we teaching children when we lie to them and make up stories? And then the kids forgive us for lying because they get presents.
When I was young, I remember reading a book of bible stories written for pre-teens. It had large illustrations, large print, and was full of interesting stories. But I never believed any of the stories because they were just like fairy tales. Just like the story of Santa Claus.
Why do we pretend? To expand our imaginations. But pretending is one thing, and believing is another.
Do you think Mrs. Claus might have been bisexual?