Breeds of Misery: Lying to one's children, one's children lying to their children, one's children's children lying to their children, et cetera, ad nauseam until someone's children realize how many parents have lied to them

Best/Worst Verse: "They sold me a dream of Christmas, they sold me a silent night. They told me a fairy story, 'til I believed in the Israelite. And I believed in Father Christmas and I looked to the sky with excited eyes. And I woke with a yawn at the first light of dawn, and I saw him and through his disguise."

This past weekend, my mom let loose on me one of her Great Regrets: "I wish hadn't ever let you believe in Santa Claus. I never liked going along with that. I always felt like I was lying to you. And it never seemed like you believed me anyway." My adult self held his tongue when I wanted to immediately respond, "But you still want me to believe that an Israelite who was tortured and killed 2,000 years ago is still upset with me for not believing in him either?" But we've already had this conversation, too many times. Instead, I went home and listened to this song.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

AuthorJohn Proctor