The world is full of questions. And there are times, today for example, when I feel like it’s my job to make the world a little fuller. To give back.

’Tis the season and all.

Actually, the holidays have always been a time of questions for me. Since I was a child. We had one of those little houses built in the 1950s that didn’t have a fireplace. I remember tracing the chimney to where it met the basement floor. The only way in or out was a little pipe that fed into the furnace. I’d seen Santa. Hell, I’d sat on his lap. He’s a hefty guy. So between that pipe and the little hole at the top of the chimney, I was having trouble processing the presents under the tree.

So I asked my mom. Her answer—Santa is magic—kept me going for a while. But around 15 or 16, I started thinking that maybe she wasn’t completely on the up and up. In fact, I was dead certain Santa used FedEx.

But knowing this only raised more questions.

Why did Mom lie? Why did Santa lie to all of us? And where did he get the money—FedEx ain’t cheap, and one year I got a 10-speed bike. Multiply that by all the kids all over the world, and that’s a chunk a’ change.

Was he writing bad checks? Registering for credit cards under fake names?

And he does it every year. How does he get away with it? Does law enforcement look the other way because he’s so jolly? I don’t think so. This stinks of conspiracy.

And speaking of conspiracy-type stuff, how can Santa be “Father Christmas”—like he sired a day on the calendar—and also be the patron saint of prostitutes? And come to think of it, why do prostitutes get a patron saint anyway? Shoplifters don’t. Bank robbers don’t. I’m not condoning criminal activity, but fair is fair. Right?

Or does he think since he does the patron saint thing under the pseudonym St. Nicholas that we won’t put two and two together? Like ugly glasses on Clark Kent somehow keep people from realizing he’s Superman?

What is up with that? Is the Metropolis motto “Stupid People Live Here” or something? And what happens if he’s in a restaurant and his glasses get dirty? When he cleans them, do people around him go, “Hey, Clark. Whoa it’s Superman. No. Wait. It’s just Clark. Man, I don’t know what they put in this soup!”

Sorry. I digressed. The patron saint thing was really bothering me, so I had to look him up online. I figured the answers would be there. Because even though my mom and Santa are liars, the Internet would never steer me wrong. Right?

Did you know Santa’s also the patron saint of thieves?

Maybe that’s where he gets his money.