It is that bizarre thing. If I had kids, I, of course, would tell them there's Santa, but it's also just an odd feeling to be blatantly lying to kids.
Do you remember when you found out there was no Santa Claus? I was so upset I didn't think I'd be able to do the show.
I'm not going to make a present of Santa.
There is something about Christmas that requires a rug rat. Little kids make Christmas fun. I wonder if could rent one for the holidays. When I was tiny we would by a real tree and stay up late drinking hot chocolate and finding just the right place for the special decorations. It seems like my parents gave up the magic when I figured out the Santa lie. Maybe I shouldn't have told them I knew where the presents really came from. It broke their hearts.
I knew there was no Santa when I was, like, 5.
I was probably nine or ten the first time I heard there was no Santa Claus.
No generation has escaped it - one morning, your skill with the eight-track or the record player or the cotton gin suddenly ceases to impress. It's just one of those inevitable disappointments that come with growing up, like the realization that Santa doesn't exist or the way that music always takes a turn for the worse after you turn 30.
