The other day one of my good buddies let me know that his oldest daughter has finally let it be known that she no longer believes in Santa Claus. This is quite a large blow to parents. It is nice to have that little piece of a fantasy world in which your children believe. Once the secret is out Christmas tends to lose a bit of its magic. That is truly the day that childhood ends. No more tip-toeing around on Christmas Eve placing gifts around the tree. No more “Mommy and Daddy are going out” to buy gifts from Santa where kids wonder what their parents are up to. It is all gone.
I think that I was a late bloomer to the Santa sham. It was 1981; I was in the second grade. We had finally “moved up” in the world. We no longer lived in the projects of Lowell and had moved just down the street from my grandmother’s house. This was the same house that Pops grew up in and made fun of Michael Chiklis. I even attended the same elementary school as my dad.
I honestly do not remember much from the entire confrontation except for the screaming. The whole scenario played out like an intervention. My parents sat me down far from the sensitive ears of my sister. There was something important that needed to be told. I am sure that I was nervous as it isn’t many times that both of your parents hover over you with important news.
Apparently several of the other boys at school had been teasing and making fun of me. When I told my parents about it I am sure that they gave each other that look and had lots of soul searching to accomplish before educating me of the ways of the world.
I suppose what was happening was that other children in my class were already in the know about a big secret. I was at the verge of coming to blows with the others due to their heresy. They argued that their parents had let them in on everything and their parents would not lie about something of this magnitude.
So as you may have already guessed my parents told me that Santa Claus was not a real person. I can only assume that I sat for seconds with a dumbfounded look across my face, eyes glassed over and jaw hitting the floor. Soon after tears welled up in my eyes, my heart raced and I grew hot with rage and lashed out at my parents. I was in denial. No, I cried. It could NOT be true. It didn’t make sense. I mean who delivered all of my gifts on Christmas? I mean I even have MET the guy. Well I at least I met his helpers that take over for him at the malls since, you know, Santa is a busy dude and all.
Then the logistics of it all were broken down for me. The technological aspects of flying a sleigh all over the world in one night were explained. It was magic, I exclaimed. Santa is magical. Then the flying reindeer were tossed out. Obviously those aren’t believable. Again, I say, magic is the answer to any and all of these silly questions that you pose. But then, all of a sudden, it occurred to me. Why would they be trying so vehemently to debunk this myth of Santa to a small boy unless…no it couldn’t be…yes, it was…they had lied to me at the beginning? I realized that they were now finally telling me the truth.
It was at this moment that I really stuck the dagger in deep and twisted. “You have been lying to me for years!”
“Why did you lie?”
“You lied!!”
“Liars!!”
I think it was these things that scarred my parents most of all. Their little boy had lost their full trust. It was up until this point in my life that I thought my parents never lied and were always straight forward with me. It was a sharp slap to the face for both of us when I realized the dark, brutal truth about Santa and my parents and adults everywhere.
Beginning that very next day at school I was embarrassed to be seen by my friends now knowing the terrible truth about my hero Santa. I tried to turn it all around on them. I am pretty sure that I ruined the Santa mystique for one of my friends that also until that point had been in the dark by spilling the beans. I also tried to pretend that it was a couple of other boys that still believed and I tried to point and make fun of them, all for naught.
Eventually the sadness waned. The opening of the gifts on Christmas morning was not as fun that year as in times past and that joy has never returned. I vowed in my young, childish mind that when I became a daddy I would never do that to my kids. I would never allow such a terrible situation to ensue. I would never lie about Santa Claus.
Obviously this never happened. When my son was barely a month old I would tell him about Santa and all of the wonderful things he does for good boys and girls. I couldn’t allow him to miss out on such a magical time as this. I could only hope that he wouldn’t resent and loathe me as much as I thought I did my parents at that horrible moment in history when the time of Christmas magic was pulled out from under me. Just for the record…he didn’t; he figured it out on his own.
This is an interesting perspective. My parents never told me there was a Santa Claus in the first place, but there was no big Anti-Santa movement in our house. When we were old enough and it came up (probably once we were in school), they did sit us down to clarify.
I don’t remember the exact words then, but I don’t remember being disappointed. Our holidays were always small (my dad’s a preacher and my mom was a SAHM at the time) but very joyful, precious, and cozy. Looking back, I think it meant more to me that my gifts came from parents that loved me and wanted me to have as much as they could afford to give me.
Now, as an adult, I could not be more grateful that they chose the way they did. I think many parents are completely well-meaning in wanting to create a magic for their children, and I totally do not judge. For me, though, ultimately it means a lot more that my parents were honest with me in EVERYTHING. I never have to doubt that, and that’s a powerful thing. I am (for better or worse) an extremely honest person to this day, and I value integrity above most other qualities, and I think it is because of my parents’ example in this and other situations.
I got no problem with Santa, incidentally
. He’s a nice symbol of holiday good will.
That is my greatest fear as a parent. Well, maybe a close second to some awful disease. I never believed in Santa (Jesus is the Reason for the Season) but truly loved Christmas. But my husband insisted that we play this thing out. I feel like such a liar! But my oldest, who is 9 started figuring things out over this past year and came to her own conclusions a few weeks ago. For the record, she’s in 3rd grade but we homeschool. She’s having fun playing along for her little sister, who stubbornly believes. The older does tend to be over-the-top with her “help” sometimes. Middle girl may react like you did. And I’ll be branded a Liar for eternity. Should I start stitching my Scarlet ‘R’ now?
Ok, I just re-read (skimmed) my comment and noticed the random “r” at the end. why “r”? I think I meant “L”. There are a couple of theories why I typed “r”. One is that I was typing one-handed while feeding the baby. Two is that someone may have walked up to me and said “r”- or something beginning with that letter. Either way, it makes me chuckle reading it. Anyone that knows me, knows this is very normal for me. (and mild in comparison to my usual craziness!) Sorry if I confused you.