Welcome, Santas of All Ethnicities


Welcome to the Gasbagger Blog, where we don’t care about Santa’s lineage.   “Period.”

Every year, for the last one year in a row, I write a special Christmas post.  This year, in 2013, in America, Santa is the issue.

Never mind, Iran with a nuke, NSA, or IRS scandals, Benghazi scandal, Extortion 17 scandal, Fast and Furious scandal, a POTUS who is an habitual and self-serving prevaricator, a failing healthcare plan, and unemployment in double digits, the focus is on Santa’s genealogy.

Over at MSNBC folks are getting lathered up over the atrocity of the audacity of Santa being of Nordic descent.  Now, let’s focus on this issue before he begins his “make-believe” flight of gift giving-emphasis on “make-believe.”

At Gasbagger we don’t give a little tiny mouse’s elbow what color or race Santa Clause is.  In fact, the more the merrier.  And, in the year 2013 in America, no one else cares except, of course, the folks at MSNCB where those folks are still struggling with why their ratings are lower than those of the Fox Network.

At MSNBC they are concerned that some are feeling deprived because Santa is not of their cultural persuasion.

Let’s be honest, anyone who feels deprived or a victimized because Santa is of Germanic descent is merely making themselves a victim by choice.  Or, they have been raised to believe they are a victim.  “Period.”

The modern figure of Santa Claus is derived from the Dutch figure of Sinterklaas, which, in turn, has part of its basis in hagiographical tales concerning the historical figure of a Christian bishop and gift-giver Saint Nicholas.  “Period.”

But, if Santa didn’t visit all homes of all colors and races with an equality of gifts, he would be a racist, no matter what his lineage.

The reality is that Santa (who is MAKE-BELIEVE) only discriminates between good and bad little boys and girls.   All Santas, of all nationalities, are welcome at my house at any time of years as long as they have plenty of gifts to leave.   I’ll leave the light on…….and a peppermint stick on the tree.

Let’s move on to my Christmas tale of 2013.

Speaking of honesty and Santa I never imposed the Santa-deception on my children, but they were admonished not to disclose the truth of the Santa Files to their little friends because I didn’t want to create any possible disappointment in those families.

My concern was the loss of trust it might create in future years when I might have to ask my children to trust what I say.  They might respond outwardly or inwardly with, “Yeah, I remember what you said about Santa Claus too.”

Looking back, however, I realize that this fantasy was harmless and I believe I was wrong to have avoided it.  Mark that down; it does not happen that often each day.

I needed a reality check and a swift kick in the arse, and now I’ve had one of each.  If I had just taken time to realize that my parents lied to me about Santa and I turned out to be nearly normal, on most accounts.   Let’s not debate the merits of “normal” just now.

This concept of being “totally” honest, while a good thing for matters that matter, could be better described as “honest to a fault” for things that are just for fun.

“Honest to a fault,” have you ever heard of it?  It’s when you tell someone the truth they asked you for but, in reality they don’t want to hear it.  They just want your support.  For example, “Does this dress make me look fat?”

There is only one correct answer for to that question and that answer is totally and completely irrelevant to the facts of the matter.

I first learned about the Santa-scam at a young age, but was able to leverage it into many more years of gift getting.  One Easter I awoke unexpectedly and surprised my parents during the act of……..hiding Easter Eggs, what do ya think.

“Okay, no Easter Bunny, but, what about Santa,” I asked.  I was not all that concerned about hard-boiled eggs, but when it came to Santa, he carried some real currency.

“Sorry son, there’s no Santa either,” they told me.  I felt like a person who bought stock in Solyndra.

I can remember sitting back on the edge of the couch, being completely deflated and with a lower lip, lower than a bug’s belly, or the President’s current approval rating.  But, like the President, I was an opportunist, so my Grandfather says, and I began to negotiate.

“Okay, I accept it; if you don’t tell anyone, I won’t tell anyone and I won’t whine all over the place as long as can we still have gifts magically appear on Christmas morning?”

My parents were concerned about my disappointment, and as a consolation, they agreed.  To this day, even in our house, my children and their children open most of the presents on Christmas Eve, but we all continue to hang up a Christmas stocking or hold back a gift for a last surprise on Christmas morning.

Merry Christmas to all and to all, “get real.”

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