I like Santa Claus. But I never liked the fact that my parents lied to me about him being the
real thing. Even when I was five years old I could figure out that some fat guy in a red suit wasn't going to be able to land on our roof with a herd of flying raindeer. And then to come down our chimney with a bag of toys. I had a vivid imagination, don't get me wrong. But I remembered that the wolf that tried to blow down all the little pigs' houses had decided to come down the chimney of the one who had built with brick and he ended up in a pot of hot water and the three pigs ended up with Wolf Stew. Besides, we didn't have an open fireplace and Santa would have ended up in a kerosene heater. Now explain THAT to me Dad.
Actually I never spoke aloud my thoughts about Santa being a fake. I mean, why should I? Somebody was putting gifts under the Christmas tree every year and if I turned the spotlight on
him, the gifts may have stopped. So I kept my little skeptical mouth shut...I think I was 22 or
23 years old when I confessed that I was a non-believer.
But parents tend to lie about everything. Think of the Tooth Fairy. Now why do they have to
think up such a stupid fairy. Thank goodness he didn't give much for a tooth or I would have
pulled out every one in my mouth just to get the money. I remember distinctly the first time
I went to the dentist...we lived in Charleston...I was 8 years old. We went on the bus and as
we rode in to town I asked my Father where we were going. He said to the dentist. I wanted to know if it was going to hurt. He laughed and said, "Of course it's not going to hurt. Don't be silly." Well, liar liar pants on fire. It did hurt because he yanked out one of my teeth. And then I had to sit beside that my liar Father on the bus.
That's not the only time he lied. Another time we took the bus one Saturday and when I asked
where we were going he just said, "We're going to see a man about a dog." Of course this got me excited thinking we were going to get a dog as a pet. But when we got off the bus we went into a doctor's office. As we waited I tried to whisper to him about what was going on. He didn't want to go into details but just said they were going to cut off a little of my penis. "FOR WHAT?" I said too loudly. It didn't make any sense to me. None at all. We went into the
doctor's office and he made me take off all my clothes, even my underwear. He had me get on a table/bed and they started to give me ether. I was suppose to count backwards from 10.
After one whiff and the count of 9, I jumped off the bed and ran out into the waiting room. Sure
I was naked, but I didn't care. My Father chased me and took me back in. They had to get a couple of male volunteers from the waiting room to come hold me down while they gave me the
ether again. I wasn't counting, but I was out before I knew it. I didn't sit next to my Father on
the bus home. I didn't speak to him even after I got home. He tried to make up by offering to get me ice cream. This wasn't like losing one tooth, you know. I had a mouth full of teeth but
I only had one penis. And to tell you the truth, I think the doctor may have cut off more than he had to because he was so angry at me for running off. But there's no use crying over a severed...well you know the phrase.
As I was recovering, my Father came into the bedroom one day, sat on the bed and said,
"You still my boy?" I didn't answer him at first. But he asked me again. Then I told him,
"I'm not going to be your boy if you keep lying to me."
When my daughters were growing up and had their first visit to the dentist, they wanted to know if it would hurt. I told the truth. YES! I didn't lie. I told them it would hurt really badly...that it wasn't as bad as childbirth, but it would hurt. I remember my oldest daughter
came out of the office saying, "Liar, liar. Pants on fire. It didn't hurt at all."
When I was 5 years old we went to my Grandfather's house for Christmas. We had a housefull
of people...all my cousins. Suddenly there was a knock on the door and when we went to answer it, there stood Santa Claus. A real live Santa Claus. He was carrying a bag of toys
and a guitar. Before he handed out stockings with our names on them, he played the guitar
and sang, "I'm Back In The Saddle Again". I knew it wasn't Santa but thought it might be Gene
Autry in a Santa suit. When he told me to get on his lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas, I knew for sure it wasn't Santa. I could smell the bourbon on his breath. It was
Uncle Johnny for sure. But, again, I didn't admit that I knew it wasn't Santa. Maybe I am just
as big a liar by not admitting what I knew...but, you know, there were all those gifts every year
and I hated to risk them stopping. I was just a boy after all.
