For my first years of life, I readily embraced Santa as real and true. Why wouldn’t I? An extra Christmas present made by elves? I’ll take it!
When I was about seven, I started to wonder about all this Santa business. “Is Santa real?” I asked my parents, not quite sure I wanted to know the real answer. “Of course he is,” was their response. I supposed they were trying to keep the magic alive for me, at least for a little while longer.
The following Christmas, I again asked if Santa was real. My parents told me the truth. And even though I had had my doubts, I was still shocked and dismayed. Sure, I was sad that the magic of Santa was actually a facade. But what most disillusioned me was the realization that adults (my own parents!) could lie to kids.
Taking on the role as whistleblower, I spread the truth to my younger siblings and cousins. “We’ve all been lied to!” I declared, to their wide-eyed horror. After I explained everything, several of my cousins were in tears.
Later that night, my mom got a phone call from my aunt. My aunt was not particularly pleased that I had ruined Santa for my cousins. Despite being reprimanded by my mother, I felt justified in knowing that I had freed others from the deception.
Now, as a mother of three young kids, the matter of Santa is again at hand. Do we foster the Santa story, or will we let our kids onto the truth? Is life even that binary? Or maybe there’s a place for Christmas magic and pretend and myth. The answer doesn’t come quite so easily to me these days.
When I was about seven, I started to wonder about all this Santa business. “Is Santa real?” I asked my parents, not quite sure I wanted to know the real answer. “Of course he is,” was their response. I supposed they were trying to keep the magic alive for me, at least for a little while longer.
The following Christmas, I again asked if Santa was real. My parents told me the truth. And even though I had had my doubts, I was still shocked and dismayed. Sure, I was sad that the magic of Santa was actually a facade. But what most disillusioned me was the realization that adults (my own parents!) could lie to kids.
Taking on the role as whistleblower, I spread the truth to my younger siblings and cousins. “We’ve all been lied to!” I declared, to their wide-eyed horror. After I explained everything, several of my cousins were in tears.
Later that night, my mom got a phone call from my aunt. My aunt was not particularly pleased that I had ruined Santa for my cousins. Despite being reprimanded by my mother, I felt justified in knowing that I had freed others from the deception.
Now, as a mother of three young kids, the matter of Santa is again at hand. Do we foster the Santa story, or will we let our kids onto the truth? Is life even that binary? Or maybe there’s a place for Christmas magic and pretend and myth. The answer doesn’t come quite so easily to me these days.
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