How Santa Claus Made Me An Agnostic

(Thoughts on the evolution of Consciousness)

I don't remember how old I was, I had to be young, it's one of my earliest memories. It was Christmas, and I was lying in bed, restless, waiting for my presents. I had a love for Batman and Ninja Turtles I remember fondly, a love for people getting their asses whipped in the name of justice.

I also had something else. A natural born skepticism .

You see I didn't believe in Santa Claus. I had a strong suspicion that my parents were lying to me to make me behave. This I understood, so I played a long of course, to get my presents. I was just missing one thing...proof.

This I learned from Matlock and Night Court I think. You had to have proof.

So, lying in bed, a planned formed in my growing sponge of a brain. I knew my parents were in the living room, they said they had to make sure we kids were in bed, otherwise Santa wouldn't stop by.
I suspected otherwise.

"Mom!" I cried out. "I'm thirsty, can I get some water?"

From down the hall she replied back, "Yeah just get some from the bathroom, use the little Dixie cups...Don't come in the living room!"

"Okay!" I said, and then sprung into action. I leaped from bed, hurried to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. I knew they could hear me, I needed cover so they couldn't hear my approach. With the faucet on I hurriedly crept down the wall with my back to it, being as stealthy as I could in my G.I. Joe underwear.

I could hear sounds of paper crunching, wrapping paper no doubt. I stopped at the edge of the hall, right beyond was the living room. This was it, the moment of truth. Quick as a mouse, I peeked my head around the corner, I only needed a nano-second, and with my own two eyes, there were my parents, putting the final touches on some last minute gifts.

I also glimpsed a sweet, jet black batman bike.

It took everything in me not to jump around the corner and scream with laughter, and call them something imaginative at the time like you bunch of lying butt faces!

But I hesitated. If I knew Santa was fake, and let them know I was in on their game, would they stop giving me presents? Sweet Jesus did I hurry my little ass back to the bathroom, and turn that faucet off.

"I'm going back to bed Mom," I called out from the doorway of my bedroom. Her response I don't quite remember, though I’m sure it was something of the usual. I was too busy fantasizing about my new batman bike.

If all I had to do was act good to get presents...then all I had to do was not get caught doing anything bad. As I sat there thinking about their lie, contemplating what else they were lying about, a thought sprung into my head.

What if God was nothing more than a lie to control big people?

Except God didn't give you presents like Santa did if you were good. If you were good, he would let you live forever in heaven after you died. And my heart cringed, that big people had to wait that long being good just to die.

That night, logic and reason led me to a struggle I would battle for the rest of my life. To question faith, to question authority, is a treacherous path...