So For The Last Time, 'What Do You Think?'

I had rehearsed over and over in my head how I would handle the conversation.

I would want to say that, Yes, Santa isn't real. But that doesn't mean I wanted to lie to you or fool you out of some desire for the illusion of parental omnipotence.

I would want to say that I wasn't always comfortable with leading you to believe in some pseudo-supernatural being in the place of God during a season when your faith is celebrated.

I ever really liked that smug, distorted caricature of Christmas. The guy who gives more to rich kids than poor kids, even as he says you get things because you're good.

I would want to say that my distaste for Santa made it so that I wouldn't ever say he was real -- only that I let you believe it if you wanted, if only so that you wouldn't be that weird kid at school.

I wanted it to be a moment in which I could absolve myself of the deception, to finally come clean and explain that I never wanted to do it, anyway.

The Easter Bunny I was OK with. The Tooth Fairy I was fond of.

But when one falls, they all fall.

It was a lot less dramatic than I thought it would be.

Here's how it went for Asa tonight -- age 10, on March 1, 2011 ...

"Hey, Asa lost another tooth tonight. I've got a $2 bill in the truck that I can put under his pillow."

And then the sound of a little boy stirring.

It's late, but he's still awake. He comes out of his bedroom.

Then ... The Question.

He's smiling.

"Is the Tooth Fairy real?"

For the last time, I once again answered with a question -- "What do you think?"

He shook his head. "No."

What a heavy moment. I didn't realize it would have so much weight.

"I have two more questions," he says. "Is the Easter Bunny real?"

"What do you think?"

"No."

"And now the big one," he says.

"What?" I say. "The St. Patrick's Day leprechaun?"

He laughs.

"Santa Claus."

I shake my head.

I say, "What did I always tell you when you asked that question?"

"You asked me, 'What do you think?'" he says.

It comforts me to know that's how he remembers it.

I try to tell him that "I never wanted to ..."

But before I can really, truly go there, he says, "I read it online."

He tells me that he read that Santa Claus used to be a real and that he was a nice guy who would give people presents at Christmas.

I don't totally know the intricate details of the story of St. Nicholas, but I imagine that's about what it's like -- at least from the perspective of a 10 year old.

"I read it online."

Isn't that just the story nowadays?

I thought I would be the gatekeeper of such world-altering information.

The irony of it all.

And that's great.

The most important thing he cared about was that he keeps getting what he always got. And that is something I can appreciate.

I guess the speech is just unnecessary -- at least right now in this moment of awakening, where a little boy simply expresses what he's felt for awhile.

And he's smiling. Thank God for that.

Recession 101

When the internet allows your average person to advertise anything just about anywhere for nothing, the average person doesn't need to pay a newspaper to place a classified ad.

When virtually no one will pay to place a classified ad, the employees who accept payment and make sure the classified ad gets in the paper have no money to accept and no ads to place.

When there's no money to accept, there's no need for employees.

When there's no need for employees, there's no need for desks or chairs in the place where the employees were once needed.

Well, maybe one chair.

Warning Labeled

This is hilarious to me.

The commercials come on late at night (or during Judge Judy at 4 o'clock in the afternoon) where there's a law firm soliciting viewers to call if they might have been the potential victim of a particular product.

I guess they make money like that somehow.

Regardless, couldn't that be a real slick way to get revenge on somebody?

Commercial: "Have you made the acquaintance of Kimberly and experienced side effects? If so, dial this number immediately -- the people at Smith & Smith are ready to take your call."

Or ...

Commercial: "Did you taste the pan-seared tuna at Dominique's Elegant Cuisine downtown? If so, call this number immediately, we might be able to help you."

Then, you're all like, "What? What did I say? You must have taken that the wrong way. I just haven't had anyone to talk to since you cheated on me/refused to give me a free refill."

The Golden Vice

The Man With The "Golden Voice"

I'm going to regret this one later, either way. But here goes ...

I don't think this is going to end well.

Isn't this the fantasy of our culture?

The so-called "American Dream." The notion that God gives you a talent and each man is the captain of the course he sails, just so long as he has the desire?

The Cleveland Cavaliers want to give Ted Williams a job and a house (the same NBA franchise owned by the czar of a major mortgage company).

CBS and NBC -- fighting over who gets to have the exclusive interview with him on the morning show, one having to settle for a sit-down with his mother.

Countless other media and corporate entities are clamouring to associate themselves with this man, who just days ago was homeless, using his talent as a gimmick to simply get by (and who can really blame him?).

And why do they do this? It's the story of instant success, a convenient, handsom package to offer comfort in the myth that there is indeed social justice in this world.

You don't have to think when you're intent on "feeling."

And where will they be if he fails?

They'll be there -- watching from a distance once the sugar crash sets in and gossip sites and reality television shows have their way with him.

Perhaps he won't succeed or fail any differently than anyone else. After all, you give a man a haircut and a collared shirt with a sweater on top and he looks like just about any other successful person with personal demons to suppress.

But I've seen this play out too many times on stages not so grand.

Maybe that isn't fair -- however, as I see it, it's not an indictment of the man.

It's an indictment of the myth.

Let's just be honest and we're probably OK.

Here's hoping this fellow can survive it.

Half Off

This is my favorite time of year.

The week between Christmas and New Year's.

I take the week off. I see my wife and kids. I have basketball practices for my little team in the middle of the day and the middle of the week. I drink beers whose tops have to be popped off.

Nobody asks me, "So, are you ready for Christmas?"

The shelves empty. The music faintly plays. Attention turns to an empty number.

But guess what ...

I'm that guy who buys Christmas lights 50 percent off.

And then puts them up, and won't take them down until the 12th day of Christmas.

More lights than when I started!

Eat that, 2011!