I was seven years old, a second-grader. It was late November and, as elementry schools do, we were already preparing for Christmas. Fingerpainted evergreens lined the halls, a colorful string of lights draped over my classroom door, and earlier that week my friend Dan told me that Santa wasn't real. Dan had cautiously disclosed this information to me during recess behind the safety of a thick oak tree that we often sat under, breaking rocks on it's roots. I can still picture his worried face and darting eyes as he spoke, with all the genuine sincerity and fear of an adult having to break the news of the death of a friend. This kind of information was dangerous in second grade and Dan knew it. When the truth hit my ears, I was able to rationalize it almost instantly. Santa is one of those things you always kind of knew there was something fishy about. It was always on the tip of your tongue. From the moment we emerged from behind the wide Oak, I held this volatile information alone, kicking it around in my mind, embarassed at how foolish I'd been.
After a tormented week, I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. I had to run it by the only credible source of information I could turn to - My parents. My dad was out on the deck, grilling, as I approached.
"Dad, there's no Santa, right?" I wasted no time.
He shuffled back a bit, and aked who had told me.
"Dan." I replied.
"well," he sighed, "no, Santa isn't actually real."
When Dad admitted this, all hope was truly lost. I collapsed into him, unleashing a weeks worth of torment in tears, holding his thick sweater in my arms. Suddenly, an even worse realization hit me. I couldn't believe it.
"So there's no Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy either?" I managed between sobs.
"No, Kyle, there isn't. You're a very smart boy, you know."
I began to cry even harder now, as I honed in on the ultimate lie. What a horrible, logical world we lived in!
"So.." I studdered. I couldn't even get it out.
"So there's no God?" Tears ran down my cheeks.
"Whoa, no no, God is very real, Kyle." He quickly said, running his hand through my hair. "Who told you that, anyway?"
What My father didn't understand was how logical this conclusion was to a young boy. Santa is a fat man who defies the laws of gravity and leaves everyone free things. God is a man who lives in the sky who wants us to live a certain way, but shoots lightning at us sometimes. It just made too much sense. It still does make sense, it just doesn't scare me anymore.
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