I Was Never Fooled by the Costume

Even as a kid, I never bought into Santa Claus. Not for a second. The whole thing felt off to me—illogical and honestly a little disturbing. A man who watches you while you sleep, keeps tabs on you all year long, judges your behavior, and decides your worth based on whether you’re “naughty or nice”? And somehow this same guy fits his fat body down a chimney to deliver presents?

Nope. That story never sat right with me.

And the proof was right there every Christmas morning. Every gift I ever received read, “To Jaycob, From Mom & Dad.” There was no mystery. No magic. Just adults playing pretend and expecting kids to suspend common sense.

I didn’t hate Christmas. I hated being lied to.

That same skepticism followed me into everything else adults swore was “real.”

I hated superheroes too. I thought they were ridiculous. Caped figures flying around, saving the world from crime, marketed like modern-day saviors. We were encouraged to believe in them, buy their toys, wear their symbols, and cheer for their victories. Yet at the same time, I was told Jesus wasn’t real—that faith was fantasy, myth, or wishful thinking.

That contradiction never made sense to me.

Because when life actually got heavy—when things broke, when pain showed up, when fear and shame took root—it wasn’t Spider-Man who saved me. It wasn’t Batman, Wonder Woman, or the Care Bears from Care-a-Lot. Not one fictional hero showed up when it mattered.

Jesus did.

Not as a cartoon. Not as a marketing campaign. But as something real, grounding, and transformative. Something that met me where I was instead of selling me an escape.

I didn’t suddenly become spiritual because it was trendy or comforting. I became grounded because truth has weight. And truth holds up under pressure.

Even Halloween lost its appeal early. By the time I was ten, I was already over it. I remember the last year I participated, running around the mall in costume, collecting candy like it was some sacred ritual. At one point I turned to my parents and asked, “Why don’t we just buy a big bag of candy and skip all this running around?”

I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I just didn’t see the point.

Looking back, I think I’ve always had an allergy to nonsense.

I never needed fantasy to feel safe. I needed honesty. I never wanted heroes in costumes. I wanted something real—something that didn’t fall apart the moment you asked a hard question.

So no, Santa never worked on me. Superheroes never inspired me. And pretending for the sake of tradition never felt necessary.

But faith—real faith—did.

And that difference matters. The picture is from 1985 with my brothers and I (i am in the blue coat) I remember I didn't want to do this.