Merry Christmas Eve!
I always love this day. My brother and I typically go out to dinner and then to a movie and he spends the night, we then go to our folks in the morning together. This year, we have Gavin, so no movie or spending the night, but still, wonderfulness. Plus, I mean, Gavin, what could be better? Maybe it’s good that I probably will never have children. If it is possible to love my own child more than I love Gavin, I don’t think my heart could handle it, and I’d smother the poor kid (with love, not a pillow).
Listening to my conservative talk radio this morning was rather interesting and, once again, reiterated how I live in a different world than the majority of the people. The topic this morning was people calling in to tell their favorite Christmas memory. Over half the people that called in talked about certain Santa memories. Things on the radio, someone dressing up like Santa, etc., etc., etc. My favorite memories are decorating with my family, the presents, the food, the lights. That day was pure magic. And still was until recently.
I never believed in Santa. I never even liked Santa. I always thought he was scary, and my folks never told me he was real. Honestly, I don’t get it. I mean I love, LOVE, fantasy, but I don’t plan on telling my kids, Lord willing, that there are mermaids or unicorns or any such thing. Why tell them there is a Santa? We can do make-believe, I just don’t ever want to lie to them. If I had ever really believed in mermaids and then found out it was all just pretend, I would be devastated. It’s pretty devastating to know there aren’t mermaids, and I’ve never even believed. I don’t have a problem with people that tell their kids there’s a Santa. However, many people have told me that I would be stealing some of the Christmas joy from children if I didn’t tell them there was a Santa. I just don’t get it. Then, there is that whole if I tell them Santa is real, then say ‘Just kidding,’ what about when I tell them about God? Am I lying about that too? Well, maybe I’m deluding myself on that one too, but we’ve talk about that before.
I guess, an argument could be made that my gayness is a result on not getting my fix of sitting on a big man’s lap enough of as a kid. It’s possible. Goodness knows I can’t get enough of it now.
And on that note! Merry Christmas!
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago