No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus (by Rebekah)
I always knew this day would come, but even so, I was not ready for it. Today, my youngest daughter learned the truth about Santa Claus. I am Jewish, so I came to Santa late in life. My Episcopalian first husband educated me into the ways of Santa (he doesn’t wrap the gifts) and for the last 14 years I have been one of the most ardent of co-conspirators in keeping the myth alive.
Last year, we lived with a single mom and her 7 year old son, Levi, who no longer believed in Santa. At the tender age of 5, he had seen his mother with the Easter baskets, and he asked about the existence of the Easter Bunnie. She caved in and told him the “truth.” From there he made the quick leap to the Tooth Fairy, and the Jolly man in the red suit. Mom was everyone, bearer of presents. I couldn’t stand it. It helped that my 8-year old believed so devoutly. I told Levi that the reason his mom had had to get him presents was because he stopped believing and that Santa had been coming to our house for years. He wanted to believe, I could tell. We made the cookies, and put them out with the milk and the carrrots for the reindeer. After he went to bed, I did all the usual, putting out the piles of unwrapped gifts, nibbling cookies and carrots. Then I went the extra mile, and knocked the logs out of the fireplace and left a boot print in the ashes. The next morning, I was awakened at dawn by the gleeful shout “Mom, he IS real, look he came through the fireplace!” It was the highlight of my Christmas.
Fast forward to this year. Ariana is nine and a half. I’ve suspected that she doesn’t really believe anymore, that she is holding on to it on purpose because she likes the presents. She asked me last week if Santa was real and I told her of course he is. She informed me that several kids at school had told her he wasn’t and she had a big fight with them. I reiterated the lie, meanwhile reading on the internet about how you tell them the truth. It seemed an inevitable rite of passage. I decided if she asked again, I would tell her. I was thinking that would be next year. But no, it was today. So I told her, Santa Claus is a spirit that fills people up at Christmas time, but he’s not a real person. “So then who puts all the presents UNWRAPPED under the tree?” “I do,” I replied. “Then last year, why did I hear a bump on the ceiling on Christmas Eve?” “Maybe I’m wrong,” I said, “you’ve got the proof that he does exist right there.” It didn’t work, and to my surprise she started to cry. “I feel like such a jerk,” she said, “believing that stupid lie.” I felt awful. I tried telling her that adults work really hard to make the lie believable because we think it makes it more fun for kids to have that magic. “I wish I never believed in it,” she cried. “”It’s worse to believe in it and then realize I was an idiot.” I kept reassuring her that she was not an idiot, that a lot of people are in on the secret and work hard to keep it. She asked why we do it. I told her that it was wonderful to watch a child’s shining face and delight while they believe in magic. I told her she was now part of the army of big people, and she had the important job of maintaining the story for all the younger kids that still believe. “You are growing up,” I said. “Why should I keep it a secret, everyone else knows he’s not real,” she glowered. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I guess I messed up.”
She bounced back after a while, but I still feel crummy. I wonder if the whole Santa conspiracy makes Christmas more fun for the grown-ups, not the kids? And this year, with so much to do and less money to do go around, was I more ready to stop holding up the lie, than she was ready to let go of her childhood innocence?
Ariana noticed that I felt badly and she apologized for ruining my Christmas, because now she would no longer be a child with a shining face. I told her something then that I think every parent knows. . . even though I sometimes miss the snuggly baby that I held in my arms, I don’t regret at all that she has turned into a sassy, busy young girl, who snuggles up to read chapter books with me in the evening. And when that phase is done, I will love her teenaged self, and her grown self just as much. My children are growing up, and I love watching every moment of it. Still, Christmas is going to be different from now on, and I didn’t realize until this moment that I was going to miss it.
December 16th, 2008 at 4:57 pm
Ariana is NOT nine and a half years old!
December 25th, 2008 at 7:29 am
She had a lot of fun watching me be Santa for Hannah. She’s “in” now, and is having a good time with it.