Mad Atoms

Growing up Jewish, I was very bitter about Christmas.  And for everyone saying, “Well, you have Hanukah!”  No.  Hanukah is not the same.  You don’t even get off of school for Hanukah, and it’s mostly about your parents giving you a present to shut you up so you won’t complain about being Jewish during Christmas and possibly convert later in life.  There are hardly any Hanukah songs, and the ones we’ve got sound sort of like death hymns.  If you’re lucky, you get, like, one non-denominational snowman decoration hung up, but he’s usually wearing a red and green scarf.  Even Frosty loves Jesus, and he doesn’t even have a soul.  Or legs.   

I remember having a major crisis when I realized that Santa was only going to visit the Christian boys and girls.  That seemed wholly unfair; why should they get free presents just because of their religion?  Isn’t that discriminatory?  So I asked my parents about the whole Santa Claus thing.  They confided that there was no Santa, but I shouldn’t tell my Christian friends.     

That is the moment that I realized I had the power to hold something over the other children at school, torture them mercilessly, and kill their childhood by revealing that there really wasn’t a Santa.  It was the ultimate retort in any situation.  You don’t want to play four square with me?  Well, fuck you, there’s no Santa, it’s just your parents.

You say you sat on Santa Claus’s lap at the mall?  Nope, that was just an unemployed fat guy in a red suit.  Oh, your precious Santa Claus is going to come down the chimney and bring you lots of wonderful presents for being such a good girl?  Think about the logistics of that.  How is he going to come to every house in the whole world in one night?  Even if he skips my house, he’s still got like a billion more to go.  As fat as that guy is, I feel like running around so much after sitting on his chunky ass all year is just a recipe for a heart attack.  Or is that what you wanted for Christmas, Sally?  A big, smelly Santa corpse of your very own? 

Inevitably, these conversations ended in tears as I watched my classmate’s sweet naiveté die, but at least I felt better about myself.   

No wonder people hate the Jews.  Pass the latkes!