Assuming you did find out, that is.
I don’t think I ever believed in the guy, so I never had to face that shattering Peggy Lee moment when my world turned existential.
After all, Christmas generally involved mama saying, “Here, try this sweater on from the Sears catalogue. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll have to return it.”
That didn’t allow much room for some fat guy in a sleigh to have sprinkled me with magic dust–and that was the right approach to take, actually. This way, I could enjoy Santa as the fantasy figure he is while avoiding the ultimate wake-up moment every kid faces when all the tinsel turns to shit.
So when did you find out? Are you still scarred from it?