Soon Santa will be coming and bringing all the little children presents (let’s face it, even the bad kids get presents — the only kids who don’t are poor or don’t celebrate Christmas).
There will be trees and wrapping paper and tinsel and candy canes and gingerbread houses. A plate will be left out with cookies and milk and all will be wonderful and when the children wake up, one cookie will have one bite taken out of it to show Santa was there.
The unwrapping will commence and a mythical creature will get all the credit for your hard work.
Nope. I don’t think so. Not in my home.
You see, I am not filling my child’s head with lies. There is no Santa in my own. I am motherfucking Santa — Momma Santa come to shower you with shit you don’t need. And you better believe I am eating all of those cookies and drinking all of that milk. Waste not, I always say.
Honestly, I don’t really care either way if you choose to tell your children Santa is real or not. But be informed that my kid might very well be the one to break the bad news and send your child home crying one day after school. Sorry in advance about that.
I just don’t like the whole idea. We pound trust, truth into our children’s heads from the moment they are old enough to understand, but before that we tell them stories about Santa and the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy and all the wonderful fake magical people who come and bring treats and presents and money, and why? Why do we do this? To instill imagination and a sense of wonder?
Yeah, my kid has that already, thankyouverymuch.
The other thing is that we’re not religious. There’s no Virgin Mary or Sweet Baby Jesus in our home around Christmas — we simply celebrate it for the shallow notion of the holiday season and the presents. Which is quite alright with us, also thankyouverymuch.
So what does Santa have to do with any of this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just like there is no special creature on birthdays, we celebrate Christmas because we love each other. That’s it. That’s all there is to it. We enjoy the colors and smell and feel of the holidays and we enjoy getting and giving new stuff and we enjoy our family, so we celebrate. Let me say that again: We enjoy our family, so we celebrate. Santa is not a part of our family.
Lying is not a part of our family, either. Now, I’m not going to scar my child for life or anything. If he chooses to believe, so be it. But I am not going to tell him Santa is real.
For example, Nixon (Nate’s oldest) asked us all the time if the Tooth Fairy and Santa were real. We told her no every single time. But, she wanted to believe so she believed. We didn’t yell at her. We didn’t pound it into her head that she was wrong. We just didn’t indulge her beliefs. And guess what? She’s fine.
I refuse to have this happen to me: