Santa doesn't sit in meetings all day. He's not getting credit for my work. | Opinion
Is Santa real? Who cares. My son has never written Santa to ask for stuff or worried about what some Elf on a Shelf has to say. Here's why.
I've watched a half-dozen Christmas movies these past few weeks. That number is low, if I'm honest.
The themes are what you would expect: Love was lost, then found. Hope was lost, then rediscovered. Families were broken, then healed. Santa was even kidnapped, then rescued.
I'm not joking when I tell you there is even one about a snowman who becomes a sexy handyman overnight and goes on to help a local community find their communal spirit and gives one local woman a chance to remember what true love is all about. That’s right. True love involves sexy snowmen.
Do you know what I don't remember any of them having? If you said "Latinos," you're correct, but don't worry, this isn't some hidden diversity, equity and inclusion column that will trigger Republicans into remembering that other types of people exist.
No, I didn't see one movie in which a parent or parents work hard all year to make sure their child or children have a good Christmas.
So, that's the story I will tell my son this year ‒ not the one where some white guy in a suit brings toys to everybody because they’re good kids. That annoying dude doesn't have my burdens. He doesn't get my credit.
My Christmas memories are not of Big Business Santa lore
Thinking back to my own turbulent youth is often a roller coaster of trauma, drugs and abuse. But there are some bright spots, and Christmas is one of them.
That’s not because of the story of Santa Claus and his unhinged mission of making sure all the good kids get a present. It’s not because of some list I was asked to send to Santa in the hopes of reaching his North Pole residence.
I remember spending time with some of my family and anticipating opening presents. As I got older, I appreciated the effort it must have taken for my family to get me those presents and to carve out that time with them.
Honestly, making tamales will always stick with me.
Now, that all went to hell as my family fell apart. This can’t be helped. But Santa and the story of his stupid list was erased by the awareness that it took my mom a great deal of sacrifice to make sure I had any hope of a Christmas.
What do I want my son to remember? It's not Santa.
My son has grown up largely with just me and his mom on the holidays. So we’ve made it our mission to make sure he’s gone to bed Christmas Eve without childhood anxiety over what would be under the tree in the morning.
None of that has included telling him Santa is watching. And don’t get me started on that creepy elf sitting on shelves all over the world.
Why would I raise my son to put his faith in some random dude in a suit out of the false idea that it will create memories? Why let Santa take credit for my work?
He wasn’t in four Teams meetings today. He doesn’t heroically ignore emails or edit Rex Huppke. Santa doesn’t have to approve vacation time or turn his camera on occasionally to show proof of life.
And I would love for him to spend one day reading emails telling him to get deported or calling him a DEI hire.
Santa could never. I’ll be sure to tell my son that.
Louie Villalobos is Gannett's director of opinion. If you feel compelled to reach out, try Bluesky. Honestly, who still uses Twitter, or X, or whatever it's called?