Excerpts from 'Notes on Christmas'
By Jack Daniel Christie
Merry Christmas everyone, from the meagre assortment of volunteers that comprise the Discordia Review staff. In honour of the holidays, here’s the content of a Christmas-themed zine written by our editor-in-chief back in 2016. Enjoy!
I was young, maybe eight, when I solved the Santa Claus puzzle. Turns out the rewards for solving that puzzle aren’t so exceptional—disillusionment & a skepticism of all magics, a skepticism that there could be any good so unconditional, or a wizened man with a beard who holds the tipped scales & who Knows all of our scores. I don’t even know my credit score, or even my GPA. Better not to jinx it.
Derek, the youngest, still does not know, which seems sort of odd, I guess, at eleven? But who would take that magic away from him?? An ex-girlfriend of mine once convinced Derek he also had magical powers to win at dreidel, then took him to the figurative cleaners, chocolate-wise, after he had enthusiastically bought-in to the delusion. Derek = blonde & beautiful & one day will probably have a very good credit score, though probably not a great GPA.
Katherine turns twenty this year. So old!!! Still believes. Katherine’s condition, having the mental life of a seven-year-old, doesn’t allow room for a lot of skepticism, doubt, or the whole real/not-real/maybe-real existential trichotomy. Case in point: Katherine didn’t cry at grandma’s funeral, because as far as Kat knows grandma is in heaven now & that’s that, fact is a fact, && sometimes it upsets me that Katherine has never had a choice in what to believe, & but sometimes I think that that’s beautiful, to be so sure about something so wonderful. Mommy still leaves presents under the tree that say “from Santa,” for both Kat & me. I will watch Katherine carve out sloppy letters to Santa for a long, long time. Katherine will always wait for Santa Claus.
Last Christmas, Derek joins myself & the Giant Inflatable Snowman for a smoke, the three of us standing on the porch in the green & red alien glow of tiny lights reflecting off tinsel. Watching his mother, my stepmother, through the window, beaming so bright, like a lady in a Sears Christmas catalogue, hustling around the house getting the festive season in order. Derek asks me with some hesitation: “without Santa, what is all of this? Who would take this magic away from her?” I look at him for a moment.
I don’t want to believe that Derek doesn’t believe if Derek doesn’t believe.
“Mom is gonna find out one day, Derek.”
“I know,” he tells me, stealing a drag of my cigarette, nearly singing tiny hand, “I know.”
I wince & I ask him quietly not to grow up so fast, but I don’t know if he hears me. Derek puts my cigarette out absent-mindedly into the Snowman & the Snowman begins to softly deflate.
Christmas morning, stepmom & dad get in big fight over presents not being what they asked for: the jewellery dad bought stepmom was too tacky, looks cheap. Stepmom says something condescending, mean, to dad. Derek looks distressed. Looks disillusioned & upset. Derek says: “but I thought these were from Santa.” Everybody quiets down. Of course, they say, of course. Katherine is still enthusiastically smiling.
Christmas is a holiday of diminishing returns. Every year since I was eight, as my proximity to real magic falls wider & wider, I begin to no longer feel that soft, warm glow; the feeling that everything is right & wonderful in the world, if just for one day. Every year I get closer & closer to crying when I watch the kids unwrap their presents—for that I have learned, & that Derek will one day learn, & that Katherine never will. Santa Claus, the arbiter of all that is righteous, who you learn one day is actually mommy, who you learn one day is not, that is, the arbiter of all that is righteous, &, before you know it, is gone forever.
Years from now, when mommy dies, Katherine will say without a doubt that she went to heaven, & Katherine will still wait for Santa Claus.