The Bloody Doors Off

First of all.

Big fan. Seriously.

Bordering on fanboy, I suppose. But I left my desire to study astrophysics behind after middle school science class. Dunno why. I was a teenager. I probably wanted to be a lot of things. But this sticks with me.

I watch with intent your interviews, I follow you on Twitter (ps can you tell me your Post name so I can follow you there? I suspect this particular social media site is about to go super nova — hey see what I did there? And if so, can you tell me? I can’t accurately explain why I chose that analogy.)

By the way, have you seen this?

I watch this video too often to discuss.

Speaking of Twitter. I love your tweets and the geeky science you provide us.

But tonight.

Oh sir, you crossed a line.

You scientifically deconstructed how it would be impossible for Santa Claus to deliver toys across the world in one night.

Look, I know he’s not real. I’m an adult. Rational. And I suppose, if this were a year ago, your tweets wouldn’t have gotten under my soul, and infected my inner child.

And now I’m waiting for someone to bring out a G.I. Joe doll and ask me where the ‘bad man’ was inappropriate.

I am, as of this writing of December 24th, 2022, fifty-six years old. Five years ago, I met the love of my life. We’ve been married for four. (When you realize you wanna spend the rest of your life with someone, you want that to start as soon as possible.) We are an interfaith marriage — I am (lapsed) Catholic/leaning United Church (there’s a story here, but I won’t bother you with it, as I’m clearly rambling) and my wife is Reconstructionist (bordering on Secular) Jew (“it’s complicated,”) We are interfaith.

I digress.

Last December, my wife and son from her first marriage expressed an interest in celebrating the Christmas holidays and what they entail. Early in December I bought a four-foot artificial tree (sadly the pre-strung lights seem a tiny bit dim), and we went to Ross Petty’s pantomime (“Peter Pan’s Final Flight”) this afternoon. I have stocking stuffers for them in the morning and there are gifts under the tree.

This made me rethink Santa.

Insomuch as allowing my eight-year old self the permission to believe the newscasters on television keeping us updated on the fat man’s journey across the globe, thanks to a NORAD tracking system. And I remember when I was a kid and the local tv station had ‘Santa Claus’ appear in their studio every weekday afternoon for two weeks, taking calls from all of us who tuned in, and I remember (just now, wow) that I actually called in and spoke to him live. I even remember the echo from the television set from the feedback of being on the phone.

And you know what, Mr. deGrasse Tyson? (Can I call you Neil? You seem very chill and would actually insist on it.) I’ve decided that Santa is real.

No, I don’t have any proof.

But then again, a lot of great scientists started with a theory. Sometimes it’s been proven correct. And others, debunked.

And despite your expert calculations, I require proof that this can’t be done.

Your a scientist.

Show your work.

And until then, please. If you can. (I know you won’t but I have to ask.)

Please don’t cancel Santa Claus.

In these dark times of overseas war and wage disparity and rights being restricted by narrow-minded… no, there is no mind at work here, this is just pure beta male posturing and trying to prove they are alpha and you do what I say or next I’ll take away your right to vote…

Allow a little light to shine at Christmas.

Let’s believe in Santa.

Just for a little while.