IT SNOWED the other morning, and my 3-year-old son, Little Solomon, ran into our bedroom (without knocking, of course) to happily announce that Santa was on his way.
I was groggy, but his pronouncement forced me into a pivotal fatherhood moment - one that I'd already faced with his big sister Eve.
"Son, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but . . ."
My wife, LaVeta, chimed in. "Santa Claus is right in front of you, lying in bed."
"No, he's not," the boy said, his brow crinkling as he looked around for a man with rosy cheeks.
"It's true, Solomon," I said, in a line reminiscent of Darth Vader's paternity admission to Luke Skywalker. "I am Santa Claus."
He looked confused, so I laid it out for him.
"Whatever you get for Christmas, I'm going to be the one to get it for you, not Santa. OK?"
He offered a mumbled "yes." Then he abandoned the Santa talk and started pestering his mom for breakfast.
Now, I know there are those who believe I'm a cruel parent for not allowing the boy to hold onto his belief in Santa. But before you condemn me, let me at least tell you the basis for my anti-Santa sentiments.
Santa is an identity thief.
With all the talk about identity theft these days, why would we celebrate the guy who invented the crime? Before computers and trash-picking, Santa Claus was the O.G. (Original Gangster) of identity theft. He was so good that he didn't need anyone's Social Security or bank account numbers. He didn't need hair extensions or fake driver's licenses. All he needed was a chimney, some elves and a bevy of parental accomplices.
I don't trust him, and I'm glad my home doesn't have a chimney. If it did, Santa might come in and take my debit card.
Santa's mission is impossible.
You think Tom Cruise has cornered the market on the impossible? Well, Santa's pretty darn close. In fact, if Santa can do half the stuff they say he can, he's better than Tom Cruise. He's MacGyver.
How do I know? Some Swedish company called Sweco did an analysis of Santa's route, and determined that he could, indeed, get toys to every kid in the world - if he did things a little differently.
First, Santa would have to abandon that whole North Pole thing and leave from Kyrgyzstan. He'd have to travel against the earth's rotation. Rudolph and the gang would have to fly 3,604 miles a second, giving Santa a whopping 34 microseconds at each stop. Even then, the whole thing would take at least 48 hours.
Oh, there's one more catch. Internet reports say that if the sleigh was weighed down with gifts and traveling at supersonic speeds, the air resistance would likely cause poor Santa, his reindeer and his giant goody bag to burst into flames and be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second.
I need my props.
The fact that my kids usually break one or more of their Christmas gifts within two hours is bad enough. You want me to let somebody else take the credit for giving the gifts, too?
Sorry, no can do. I work my fingers to the bone throughout the year feeding, clothing and housing kids who eat more and grow bigger with each passing day. I administer discipline to little people who are inevitably as naughty as they are nice. I do all the hard stuff.
SO WHY WOULD I let some other dude swoop in for 34 microseconds and get the glory for buying them the stuff they want on Christmas?
Call me a hater, but I'm not about to let Santa take my well-deserved props. You shouldn't either. Therefore, my stance on the Santa question remains the same.
"Yes, Little Solomon, there is a Santa Claus. His name is Daddy. And don't you forget it." *
Solomon Jones appears every Saturday. He can be reached at