I Hope You Choose to Be Santa Too

The day that all parents dread (maybe this is a bit over dramatic) has arrived.  My child, my BABY, who proves to me on the daily that she is not a baby at all, came to me with a straight face today and asked me if Santa was real.  I could tell that she was conflicted.  She wanted me to say yes, but she also wanted me to say no.  She wanted to cling to the hope and belief of something that she has never seen, but she also didn't want me to insult her intelligence when she knows good and well that the whole idea just isn't possible.  This was my chance, my opportunity.  But, just like anyone who isn't prepared to shatter the dreams of a child, I flipped it back to her, asked, "What do you think?" and ran off to take a shower while the baby napped.

The entire time, I thought about what my kids believe and why they believe it.  I don't want them to think that I'm a huge sneak and an incredible fraud.  In fact, eventually, I do want them to know how hard we work to make the holidays magical for them.  Maybe this question, if answered correctly, could even relieve me of my Elf on the Shelf duties.

I one hundred percent believe in preserving my children's innocence.  I'm sorry.  I do.  I think the world needs more of that.  But, I also don't want my 11 year-old to be the only kid in her class believing in Santa and vehemently arguing with her friends about whether or not he exists and getting made fun of by kids at school.

I can also clearly recall discovering that my suspicions were correct when I was in the third grade. I was terrified to tell my mother that I gotten up and saw the station wagon leave and return several times. I had heard the rustle of the packages being placed under the tree.  I knew the truth, and the magic was lost for me.  My daughter is three years older than that. I don't want her to lose her sense of wonder, but I struggle with how long to let the naivete go on. This question is important and I need to be truthful because lying to her in this vulnerable, earth-shattering moment will set the tone for all serious talks from here on out as she grows up.  I want her to be able to ask me anything. If I am not honest with her, she won't be honest with me.

But, I grappled the whole time I shampooed and throughout the rest of the day. How can I tell her the truth but make it positive?  How can I show her that there can still be magic in the ordinary?  How can I answer her question without breaking her heart?  The answer never came.  I miraculously avoided having it brought up again for the rest of the day.

As I lay in bed, trying to sleep, it came to me.

This is what I should have told her:

Santa is the spirit of giving and the magic that happens at Christmastime.  He isn't a human.  He's a feeling.

Santa is the bated breath of every child who anxiously wrestles with whether or not to fall asleep while listening for sleigh bells and footsteps on Christmas Eve.

Santa is the baking, the cookies, the food, the family, the laughter, and the togetherness of the holidays.

Santa is the miracle of a Christmas for a family who wouldn't have one otherwise.  He is the generosity of a stranger helping another human.

Santa is believing in something that you cannot see.

Your parents might be Santa.  Your teacher might be Santa.  Your grandma might be Santa. A perfect stranger might be Santa.  I hope you choose to be Santa too.

Let's see how I handle this tomorrow.

Happy Holidays!