Something about the whole Santa Claus thing never sat right with me, not because I don’t love Christmas, or stories, or traditions, but because at its foundation, I felt like I would be lying to my kids – a lie that they would inevitably find out I had purposefully encouraged them to believe. I had also heard enough stories from people about how heart broken they had been as kids when they found out the truth. I didn’t want to set this as a precedent for two reasons: 1) I didn’t want them to think that I lie to them and 2) I wanted them to eventually be able to explore the notion of God and spirituality without being encumbered by the thought that “that’s all just another lie – if I can’t see it, it’s not real”.
So with those two principles in mind, I chose to do the unorthodox thing – typical of me, I know. Obviously there was no way to NOT tell them about Santa Claus – he’s frikkin' everywhere. So instead I told them that he was a game. “Santa is a game we play. At Christmas we pretend, and tell stories about how Santa brings gifts to all the children in the world. He rides on magical reindeers that fly – isn’t that a fun story? In different parts of the world, he has different names. And some kids actually believe that he’s REAL – so don’t spoil the fun for them, it’s our secret, okay?”
And that was it. Literally that was all it took, and it worked, well, magically. See, children have this bit of magic of their own – it’s called IMAGINATION. My kids were fully able to accept that mommy and daddy were Santa Claus, and also to invest in the fun of the story. They simultaneously believed he was real, and knew that he wasn’t. That’s the profound thing about kids, they’re able to easily hold conflicting notions in their minds – for kids, 2+2 does not yet equal 4.
One year, my youngest decided that he did, in fact, believe that Santa Claus was real. I didn’t argue or insist that he wasn’t. I allowed him to think what he wanted, and to draw his own conclusions. From there lively debates ensued between he and his older brother, a natural skeptic. “Oh yeah, well if Santa doesn’t exist then who eats the cookies, huh? And if there are no reindeers, who eats the carrots, huh? You thought about that?”
“uhh… Mommy and Daddy…”
“What?! No way!”
They never spoiled it for the other kids who believed. And I never talked about it to a single other parent.
The thing is, as I listened to other parents talk around the holidays, I heard how important Santa Claus was TO THEM. They were so invested in having their kids believe, and went to such great lengths to make it so; I concluded that most parents still want to believe in Santa Claus themselves. It brings back the magic of childhood for a few brief weeks each year. How could I ruin that for them?
As my kids got older, and I heard the other parents agonizing about how they were going to tell their aging children the truth, and about how sad and disappointed they were going to be – I knew that I had made the right choice. I never had to go through that awkward moment where my kids found out I had been lying to them. I was infinitely relieved, and glad that I had stuck to my unconventional decision. We had made it through the Santa Claus years completely unscathed, and still believing in magic.
I write this only as food for thought, and to share my perspective on a ubiquitous topic that I know some others may be questioning. It’s not a judgement, it’s my opinion, though I obviously consider it a valuable one. I don’t care if you teach your kids that Santa is real. Go for it. They’ll be fine either way.