No, Virginia, There Is No Santa Claus

Below is the never before published "private" reply to  eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon's letter to The (New York) Sun asking if there was indeed such a person as Santa Claus.  This private reply was written by the paper's editor, Francis Pharcellus Church, and hand delivered to Virginia by courier shortly after the "cleaned up" version was published on 21 September 1897.

Francis Pharcellus Churd hand delivered by courier on behalf of the paper shortly after their "cleaned up" version was printed on 21 September 1897.

Virginia's beloved letter (suspected of actually being written by her father -- who is oft-times regarded as the "Founder of the 'Viral Video' of His Day") is known far and wide as one of the most heartfelt and touching dialogues ever printed -- predating "Dear Abby" and paving the way for the popular "Question and Answer" segments featured in countless newspapers and magazines, world-wide.  

This never before disclosed discourse is as follows:

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West Ninety Fifth Street

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus.

Forgive me for being so blunt, but...the fact of the matter is -- there is no Santa Claus.  Your "little friends" are right; your parents have misguided you...and you trusted them.  This parent/child bond is now forever broken and, sadly, one day you will probably need therapy.  And when I say "one day", I mean...you will need years and years of weekly therapy by a trained psychoanalyst, at the unheard of fee of $30.00 per session to rid you of your trust issues. 

Honestly, from this point onward, you will look back and wonder -- while you are lazily gazing out of your classroom's window, years from now -- when you are lying, spent, on your back looking up at the ceiling after a lover's encounter, or tomorrow -- when you are in bed, head under the covers, trying to fall asleep...those thoughts will creep into your mind and you will undoubtedly have flashbacks of various things your parents have assured you about over the years. 

Things such as: 

"Am I really an only child?" 

"The Easter Bunny - another sham to make me behave?" 

"Did my pet goldfish really safely swim out of his bowl to the East River to be reunited with his family that one day when I went to grandma's for tea?" 

"Are there really no monsters under my bed, especially now, because I'm lying wide awake in my bed for hours on end, and...for some inexplicable reason my father and mother always close the door after they shun my requests for a kiss 'goodnight' -- and, would they even hear my muffled cries for help if a monster got me?"

Absolute poppycock and pure hogwash, Virginia!  In fact...chances are that's not even your REAL name.  By that I mean -- yes, it's your name now...but, before you were adopted (and by this abject refusal of affection your "parents" deny you, chances are good you aren't even remotely related to them...or perhaps you are the bastard child of that aunt they never speak of) it was probably something else.  But, it might have been Elsie or Gertrude, so consider yourself lucky, in a way.

Lastly, there are probably no monsters under your bed...but this made up creepy fat guy in a red suit shimmying down your chimney to gain access into your house just to poke around in your sock drawer because he has a stocking fetish...well, let's just say the monsters are the least of your worries, my dear!

In closing, I wish you the best of luck with the rest of your life, trudging onward from this point, being hounded by the press and taunted by your so-called "little friends" up until the day you die -- as I'm going to publish your full name and address in our paper, haha!

Or as "Santa" would say (if he existed, but my dear delusional child...rest assured, as best you can in your bed, late at night -- the very same bed without the monster under it -- he certainly does not) -- "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

-- Regards, F. P. Church, Editor

Bulging at the Seams With That "Can-Do" Christmas Spirit

'Tis the season of giving...where we open our hearts to share our good fortune...and our cupboards to share our bounty...with those less fortunate than ourselves...

...or so the old heartfelt sentiments they've instilled in us would have you believe.

Okay...back to that thought in a minute...I just wanted to say I was in a slump the last month and didn't write a blog. One could say I was tired of making the rounds to countless doctors' offices and, coupled with reading endless dismal news items centering on people killing children...or more precisely, their own children (or in their blood-line somehow) - like the one yesterday about a grandmother nonchalantly tossing their grandchild off the third floor Fairfax County, Virginia, mall's balcony to her death...well, I was figuring life itself doesn't hold enough jubilation for me to write about...lately.

That was...until today.

Today I went to yet another doctor's office and spied a ginormous sparkly wrapping-papered box sitting next to the television cabinet in the waiting room.

I, of course, went to peer inside as I am the curious sort.

Inside were a few cans. Oh, isn't that nice - a box set out for people to give to others who can't afford their deductible or health insurance to start with. Nice sentiment and all, right?

Guess again.

Out of the (maybe) nine cans inside...seven were dented. And not dented a little. Not like the ones that used to be in the mark-down aisle in any supermarket when I was a kid -- the ones we'd routinely consume because the difference between 35 cents and 29 cents was a large enough amount of money to risk your family's health because you were too strapped for cash to pony out the extra six cents. We're talking majorly mangled...bordering on seepage and explosion upon contact. I didn't look closely enough to see if the expiration dates were from the 1990's. Something held me back in the hope that human kindness wouldn't allow such a thing.



But then again...human "kindness" decided to go foraging for cans of stuff they bought ages ago (think "ghost of Christmases past" impulse buys like decadent French chestnuts or Dickensian English plum pudding)...or accidentally dropped from off the top shelf whilst looking for more "normal" things to eat. Then think of someone actually starting up their $48,000+ automobile and driving all the way to the doctor's office to gingerly insert them in a bedazzled box destined for people less fortunate than themselves to consume. Keep in mind these are the very same people who wouldn't think twice about tossing out a can of Fancy Feast cat food if it had so much as a friggen ripped label.

So, it's okay to give sub-par food to someone you don't have any ties to...it's okay...because, as they say: "It's the thought that counts."

Ugh.

(Written "the other day"...but not posted until today.)