How My Autistic Brain Killed Santa Claus

Other kids believed in Santa for years. I ran the numbers and shut it down early.

The evidence was overwhelming:

The logistics didn't add up One sleigh. One night. Billions of children. I didn't need calculus—I needed someone to explain how this was physically possible. No one could.

The handwriting was suspicious "Santa's" gift tags looked A LOT like Mom's handwriting. I noticed. I said nothing. I filed it away.

The mall Santas were inconsistent Different heights. Different voices. Different beards. Either Santa had a cloning problem or these were independent contractors. I had questions.

The breaking and entering problem So we're just... okay with a stranger coming into our house at night? And this is presented as GOOD? The security implications alone.

The cookie science I stayed up and watched. Dad ate the cookies. Case closed.

The reindeer aviation issue Reindeer don't fly. I checked. No one could provide peer-reviewed evidence to the contrary.

The naughty/nice surveillance system You're telling me one man maintains a behavioral database on every child on earth with no visible infrastructure? The NSA wishes they had that capability.

How it ended: Did I ruin the magic? No. I discovered the REAL magic: parents going to absurd lengths because they love their kids. That's actually sweeter than a stranger breaking into your house.

The autistic child experience: While other kids were vibing with the fantasy, I was quietly conducting an investigation. Not because I wanted to ruin it—I just couldn't NOT see the patterns.

My brain doesn't do "just believe it." My brain does "but wait, let's examine this."

Merry Christmas Eve to everyone who figured it out early and had to pretend they didn't so they wouldn't upset anyone.

We saw. We knew. We kept the peace. You're welcome.