On Lies and Christmas Spirit...

Papa Elf: Well, silly as it sounds, a lot of people down south don't believe in Santa Claus.

Buddy the Elf: What?! Well, who do they think puts all their toys under the tree?

Papa Elf: Well, there's a rumor floating around that, uh, that the parents do it.

Buddy the Elf: That's... that's ridiculous. I mean, parents couldn't do that all in one night. What about Santa's cookies? I suppose parents eat them, too?

Papa Elf: Yeah, I, uh, I... I know,

~ Bob Newhart and Will Ferrell in Elf


My child is eight and still fervently believes in Santa Claus. She believes in him so strongly that she engages in heated debates with her school mates about his existence verses the existence of God—who she does not believe in. They argue for God, she argues for Santa and all use the same sketchy data and circular reasoning used by anyone to prove the existence of an all powerful and knowing entity who doesn’t just, like, show up and say, “Hi.”

I’d expected her to come to some more, ah, mature conclusions about Santa by now or at least make some connections I could utilize to segue her perceptions to “it’s the spirit of Santa that’s important…” But, no, she is still determined that a friendly, large, whiskered, older gentleman has nothing better to do than spend his immortal life whipping elves into toy production and delivering them (the toys, not the elves) to every single household in the freakin’ world within the span of, loosely, 24 hours (assuming Santa arrives around midnight in whatever part of the world he’s in at the time…).

We’ve been content to indulge her beliefs until recently, when she said to her dad and me, out of the blue, “I know Santa exists because you would never lie to me.” Jim and I looked at each other, stunned. I mean, we had no words, no response, no segue. In the end, we opted for a subject change and non-verbally indicated to each other that we’d have a strategic planning session later on.

We are officially perplexed and at odds about this Santa situation. I’m honored that she trusts us and feel strongly that some sort of honest discussion about Santa must occur because I’d rather she hear it from us than find out on her own and distrust everything we tell her for the rest of her life; resulting in involvement with drugs, prostitution and crime…roaming the streets of Portland until she’s picked up by some insensitive cops or worse, ends up on social services.

Jim feels strongly that we should continue to perpetuate the Santa belief because Christmas will be more fun that way and he’d rather not also have to ruin the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, assorted other fairies, and the Great Pumpkin. Clearly, he does not see the implications, the potential for major psychological damage, the trust issues, the teachable moments… sigh…

We did not realize when we set out to parent a child within the Santa paradigm, that the eventual decision to reveal his reality could result in major marital disagreement. It all seemed so innocent and harmless. Since the “lie” comment, we’ve had many discussions, theories, scenarios, bottles of wine, but have yet to come to any conclusion…any plan.

I found out about Santa accidentally, on a Christmas morning, shortly after I’d turned seven. Late on Christmas Eve, I got up for the bathroom and heard weird electronic beeping sounds. Investigating, I peeked around the corner and saw my dad, amongst mounds of wrapping paper and boxes, on the floor of the living room, happily playing with the beeping object. I’ve never been a snoop and honorably retreated back to my bedroom when I’d realized that my parents were finishing their wrapping.

In the morning, as we opened our booty, my step-brother tackled a small gift labeled “From Santa.” He excitedly tore open a little electronic baseball game, turned it on and began to play it. To my shock, it emitted the very same electronic beeping sounds I’d heard the night before. I confessed my discovery and my parents launched into the “spirit of Santa” explanation; fessing up to the ruse. I recall handling it well and having no residual trust issues (at least none related to that subject).

Still, I’d never jumped to the initial conclusion that “Santa must be real because my parents would never lie to me.” Of course this could be because I’d caught my parents in numerous lies prior to the from-Santa-ball-game and really never had the expectation that I could trust them implicitly anyway.

Our child’s trust is both a testament to our basically good parenting and to our ability to lie effectively. What we currently lack is spin. So I imagine, prior to Christmas morning, my spouse and I will generate some satisfying and morally acceptable Santa explanation that teaches her the spirit of giving, perpetuates magical thinking, and covers our asses. Or we’ll just eat the cookies, spill some milk and play dumb as per usual. Either way.