Kaitlyn Andrews-Rice, Editor-in-Chief
Every night for the last several weeks I've been asking my son about Santa. Why does he come? (Toys) How does he come? (Chimney) What does he eat? (Cookies) Is Santa afraid of our pug? (No)
My dad used to leave crumbs of Double Stuffed Oreos on a plate next to Santa's handwritten response. Blue ink.Thanks for the cookies. Be good to your sister. Love, Santa.
My dad grew up Jewish, my mom Catholic. I grew up nothing (other than the time my parents briefly flirted with Unitarian Universalism). And yet here we are, perpetuating the (completely non-religious) holiday.
A belief in Santa requires belief in happy endings. In twenty-four hours Santa travels to every house around the world. He flies through the sky with the help of glowing-nosed reindeers. He fits through the chimney, even the ones with fake logs in symmetrical piles. He brings the gifts you requested (Mall Madness, boombox) and the gifts you didn't (Mariah Carey's "Music Box"). Whatever the weather, Santa's been there, done that all before 6am.
This year has been a challenge, and there were times I wasn't sure we were going to make it to December. The onslaught of distressing news, coupled with the daily realities of our new president, made happy endings feel like a fiction we made up.
This month at Split Lip we're exploring dreams and fable, fairy tales and faith. In Katie Welch's "Poisoned Apple," poison's used for good. In Jim Zola's "Two Bits," poison becomes a rash, and in Jake Sullins' "Last Supper," poison's an injectable drug. Ingrid Jendrzejewski's "Freefall is a Compound Word" takes us to a classroom witnessing the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion.
As adults we understand certain things: Santa isn't real. Fairy tale endings don't usually play out the way they do in movies. Our candidate might lose.
Should we believe anyway?
Maybe we should.
From all of us at Split Lip Magazine, happy holidays and best wishes for 2018. Thank you for your support. We love you.