Well, that's what I get for getting worked up on my soap box and chastizing the parents: I become example ..1 of what-not-to-do.
See, two weeks back, Jude and Ilona came to see Santa with Traci. YEsterday, their Father told Traci that the part of Santaland that Jude keeps talking about is Ray saying that "one of the Santas was mad at him".
Yep. They listen.
Such a dumb mistake! And it was in the first moments after they arrived - before they even went into see Santa! I was sitting with the kids in Au Bon Pain and Traci asked me how things were going. i told her I feared a certain Santa was not approving of my style. Immediately we both grew eyes as big as quarters and changed the subject. but it was too fucking late. i had delivered the awful wisdom to Mr. Jude. Good thing the kid is Jewish. But still.
Today another kid stood at the peek window and looked at Santa. in a loud voice that was meant to reach his father's ears, the boy said," Nope. it's not possible. He's too big. there is no way he can reach all those houses in one night and get down all those chimneys. nope. It's not possible."
His Father gave me a glance to let me know that he was proud of his son's deductive reasoning, to which I said quietly, "Quantum Physics."
That's right, kid. Every elf must know the basic spirit behind quantum theory before donning the hat. Nothing will turn the ears pointier than a few verses in String Theory. Infact, Santa insists upon it, because it is in this realm that he can deliver the biggest presents, if you know what I mean.
....I hope the kid grows to ask himself, what is the point to disprove Santa? For that matter, what is the point of exposing the shortcomings of a Department Store's attempt to join commercialism with goodwill and (for some) spirituality? I think we know most of the outcomes of these things. The question that I am much more interested in is, when does Santa exist? How? What kind of witness to mankind can Santa help us to be? Little glimpses upon the answers have been the real fruits of this 10 dollar-an-hour seasonal gig. When I have a minute to catch my breath, I'd hope to honor the best parts that have yet to be written about.