Though several psychotic people have informed me that they are Jesus, I have yet to encounter anyone who has asserted that they are Santa Claus.

I toyed with the idea of writing a story related to the shared delusion of Santa Claus:

1. Santa falls off of his sled, is taken to the trauma center, is admitted to the hospital with multiple fractures and maybe a liver laceration or two, and demands to leave because of his holiday duties. The primary team asks for a psychiatric consultation; the psychiatrists deem him psychotic, maybe delirious. He remains in the hospital to recover. Mysteriously, two-thirds of the Santa-believing world do not find presents underneath their trees on Christmas morning. Even the parents can’t find the gifts that they had hidden in the closet, etc.
2. The psychiatric literature reports a disturbing phenomenon where children do not sleep well for about a week starting December 18th or so. On December 24th, there is an epidemic of children who stay up all night, exhibiting excess energy and entertaining a shared fantastic delusion about a height-weight disproportionate man who shall leave them all the gifts that they desire. The parents of these children are concerned about this outlandish behavior—their kids are unruly, they are not paying attention during school, etc.—and this bizarre belief. Some parents and psychiatrists strongly suggest that these children receive pharmacological treatment or intense therapy to address this problem. Debate ensues.

… but fear that people will take offense. Readers cannot see the tongue in my cheek.

The following was originally posted on December 23rd, 2004. Long-time readers should note that I still have many more questions than answers about religious faith.

Around this time of year, everyone returned to their respective hometowns. The government minions wanted to make sure they had an accurate headcount for taxing purposes, although they publicly stated they just wanted “census data”.

Thus, Joe had to leave the quiet suburbs and return to the urban metropolitan sprawl. Accompanying him to the city was his girlfriend Mary. She got knocked up somehow—and he certainly wasn’t the one who had the pleasure of doing so. She adamantly insisted, however, that she wasn’t creeping around with some other guy. Joe was skeptical, of course—maybe she had gone out clubbing with some of her girlfriends, like that Martha chick, and maybe some guy had slipped some GHB into her drink and you know, had his way with her.

Strangely enough, though, Joe had a dream about her pregnancy. He had actually planned to terminate the relationship. For the love of God, the woman was pregnant with some other guy’s kid! He had rehearsed his delivery so many times in his head: “It’s not you, Mary; it’s me.” He really meant, of course, “It’s not me, Mary; it’s SO totally you, you worthless whore.” But something about this dream was truly compelling: An Adonis with wings clearly instructed him to marry this woman and name the kid Immanuel.

Joe could already hear the kids on the playground taunting this poor illegitimate bastard. “Immanuel”? “Ewwww-manuel!” “E mano e mano!” “I”m a manual!” Terrible.

Adonis said something, however, about this kid saving the world. Whatever. It was just a dream, right?

Joe really did care for Mary, though—she was a great girl and worth forgiving. And he figured that if they got married, maybe she’d stop her cheating ways. And so he gave her a Ring Pop (Joe didn’t have much money) and proposed over a shared cup of ice cream at Dairy Queen. She particularly liked Blizzards.

Her belly was huge and right when they got into the city, her labor began in earnest. They didn’t have great health insurance, so even though they had hoped to receive obstetric services at the top-rated Labor and Delivery hospital on the West Side, they ended up rushing to the run-down county hospital. She almost popped out the kid by the Emergency Room entrance, where the local heroin and cocaine dealers were huddled nearby at the bus stop, waiting for their next customers.

Joe was obviously displeased.

But they were now parents of a baby boy! No fresh linens were available at that hour, so Mary and Joe ended up wrapping up their lil’ infant with tattered pillow cases. But how darling he looked!

Especially compared to the haggard and sweaty Mary.

The security guards were working their graveyard shifts, guarding the fancy cars in the parking structures throughout downtown. They were doing what they usually did: chew gum, mindlessly flip through Maxim Magazine, and listen to NPR.

A mysterious figure appeared at these parking garages and started yelling through a bullhorn, “The Guy who is going to SAVE THE WORLD was born tonight! Yes! Tonight! In this VERY CITY! Go to the county hospital—you”ll see him there, all wrapped up in pillow cases, near the drug dealers, yo!”

The security guards didn’t know what to make of this—was this some sort of a prank? The night was quiet, though, and the issue of Maxim wasn’t very good, so they decided to go to the county hospital—maybe the Bullhorn Guy was crazy, but maybe there was something to see. And maybe they could even score a few free lines of coke?

So they ambled up the hill to the county hospital and they couldn’t believe it: There was indeed a kid wrapped up in pillow cases outside of the ER, laying on a broken gurney, near a gaggle of drug dealers by the bus stop! They also saw three men there, dressed in full academic regalia, even with the silly mortarboard caps—each with a different colored tassel hanging from the corner.

“Who are they?” the security guards asked. “What kind of get-up is that, anyway?”

Apparently, these three learned men participated in Geocaching when they weren’t working. For whatever strange reason, their GPS devices led them to the county hospital. They didn’t know what to expect (their last Geocaching adventure led them to the waterfront and rewarded them with a Dr. Seuss book and a package of condoms), but they seemed delighted to be there.

They leaned over the broken gurney and made silly faces at the baby, their tassels tickling the infant’s nose. Mary and Joe sat against the concrete pillars nearby, watching the three capped-and-gowned men play with their son. Would you believe that those men had given them gold, a handful of free debit cards, and an unbelievable amount of stock options? Mary and Joe just didn’t know what to make of this. It was kinda weird, really, but then again, they really needed the money.

It was getting late, though, so the Three Academics packed up their things, gave their best regards to the baby and his parents, piled into a Honda Accord, and drove away. The security guards were excited—this would make for a great story, wouldn’t it? This little kid getting all that gold and money at the county hospital! And maybe he would save the world—or maybe just do a better job than the current leadership in office. And, if for nothing else, at least they had stories to tell at the bar next weekend: “Yeah, this really weird guy was yelling into a bullhorn at the parking garage about this kid at the hospital, and we went, and you know, it was true and stuff! And the kid is LOADED! It was pretty cool!”

Mary and Joe smiled down at Immanuel as the sky began to lighten. They would always celebrate December 25th.

They just didn’t realize that everyone else would, too.