Today I saw a man dig out of a trash can looking for food. And what my broke my heart was his striking resemblance to you.

You broke my heart a couple of times when I was young. My granny told me that you were a myth, that you never existed. I should have listened to her...

My Mama told me different, if I behaved and was good all year, I would get to see you. It seemed we were the only two people that believed in your existence, Santa.

The long nights I stayed up anxiously waiting for you, the fake letters you sent to me filled with promises to visit, I felt like a prisoner anxiously waiting for a conjugal visit. I even ignored the fact that you had the same handwriting as Mama, I only wanted to believe the good in you.

Heartbreak after heartbreak, every Christmas Eve, I would leave my heart open to you. But you never showed up. Opening presents with tears streaming down my cheeks, yeah, every year, that was my story.

Dear Santa, as I grew older, the Christmas nights grew colder. I became wiser. I know all your secrets, I know your story....(thanks to Google). I know the truth behind your ugly personality. I know why you and your 'little helpers' entered peoples’ homes with a sack, ate their food and left.

Dear Santa, or should I say, DEAR DAD. I guess Santa Claus has the right idea; VISIT PEOPLE ONLY ONCE A YEAR.



(24 years later)



Dear Santa, you showed up 5 years ago at my doorstep. And what annoyed me the most was that it wasn't Christmas. What fucking good are you if you can't do your job right? And where the fuck have you been every Christmas... Or every other day of the year?

My kids were thrilled to see you for the first time, your long white unshaved beard really did it for them. They just couldn't understand why Santa had lost so much weight. I had to lie to them, telling them there's no food at the North Pole this time of the year. I fed them some BS about global warming, now they recycle more.

I guess when they are older, they too will know you don't really live at the North Pole. And all the 'Snow' you have been blowing and the 'Ho Ho Hos' you have been screwing got you all messed up like that.

No! Don't even enter the house with your filthy sack of STI's. No, you can have a glass of water or use our bathroom. You probably have anal warts! You think Mama didn't tell me you showed up to her house earlier and tried to get back into her life? I bet you were shocked when you saw the new man in her life. JESUS is the true hero of Christmas, not you Santa. You fucking fraud.

(5 years forward)



Dear Santa, you look so funny with all those tubes connected to you. With both kidneys failing and a rock hard liver, you are on permanent dialysis. I lied to my kids again, I told them you got really tired after delivering all those presents around the world. So those tubes injected in you pump energy and nutrients, replenishing you. Giving you enough strength for your annual trip around the world. I feel myself hiss as I lie to my kids, all because of you.

Dear Santa, you started dying the moment you showed up on my door step. But I was blinded and couldn't see it, you were dead to me when I was a little boy. You were dead to me the moment I stopped believing in you. Right now, you are rolling on the ground breathing dramatically.

Dear Santa, I hated you the more I spoke to you. You couldn't adequately explain the gaps in my life. You weren’t there at my first football game, mum taught me how to drive and Granny took me to prom. With you not around, Mama had to work three jobs and she was hardly around. It was only Granny, and when she died, I was all alone. You know I used to cut myself, swallow pills, I was slowly becoming you. Did you know I put on a suicide rope three times, three fucking times! Twice I failed to, I thought of Mama and how selfish I was. The once time I actually when through with it, the rope broke. I was stress eating that year, I gained quite a lot. You destroyed me even when you were hardly in my picture.

But you see, I'm not just your child, but my mother's child too. The light from her outshone your evil. I went to rehab, reinvented myself and locked all memories of you deep inside. So you can understand why I slammed the door in your face as you passed out. I honestly thought you were faking it.

My wife convinced me to pay your medical bills, and here you lay, like a desktop with so many tubes in you.

I hated you Santa and you would be happy to know, I adopted your policy and only visited you once a year.

Dear Santa, you always had flair for being dramatic. The doctors said you only had a few months to live. So I decided to soften up and let you in once more. But instead, I got the shock of my life. I walked in to surprise you but there you were, with your secret family. I guess you more than fucked your little helpers.

I grabbed my kids and stormed off without saying a word to them.

(Present)

I write to you now Santa, after a couple of years of silence. You see, the following Christmas Eve, my youngest son stayed in his room and refused to come out and help decorate the house. Kind of like what I used to do when I stopped believing in you. He said he didn't believe in Christmas anymore because Santa was dead and that instantly broke my heart. It finally hit me, you were gone for good. We both cried that night, we mourned Santa's death.

Dear Santa, I write to you, now asking for forgiveness. I kept all that anger and hurt inside because I didn't want to be associated with you in any way. I never got the chance to hear your story. I just wanted explanations to why you were gone, to why you were missing all these years.

I never got to see you till after my 30's, when you showed up in front of my door that day for the first time. I didn't know you signed up and joined the army when Mama was two months pregnant. I guess the war took its toll on you, changed you, made you a different man. All those pills you took, the alcohol you drank, trying to forget about the foreign lives you took and the friends you lost. You were no longer a stable man, you were scared of hurting your family if you came back. You did what you thought was best for your family even though we felt different.

I never understood then but I guess I got jealous when I saw how well you got along with my kids when they came to see. You. I saw them laugh at your jokes and rage suddenly filled me with rage because I stayed up waiting, hoping one day you would show up and make me laugh. It’s why I only saw you once a year despite my kids wanting to see you all the time.

Dear Santa, I know it’s too late but please forgive me. Later that eve, when my son cried himself to sleep, I took on your role as Santa to keep the magic alive. To give him hope and a better life than I had. I even reached out to my other siblings and I help them out from time to time. You would be happy to know there's some improvement, half your kids are in rehab. The other half turned out pretty decent but I still help them all the same. After all, isn't helping others Santa's job?

I even visit you with my son, 'Santa's little helper' he calls himself. He plans on naming his first child Santa. I don't know how to delicately break the news and tell him Santa is not real. I guess he will figure it out on his own as he grows older.

It’s a shame each time I visit you now, it’s with flowers at your grave. I also can't visit you as often as I would have loved to because we moved to a different city. But don't worry, I stuck to your policy just the way you would have it, I only visit once a year.

I hope you lie in your grave waiting for that day once a year when Santa (now me) comes to visit...

I love you Dad.