Is Santa Real?

Over the years, some friends had shot those looks at me, warning me NOT to do anything to give their children the idea that Santa may not be real. Yes, some people have lovingly placed me in the same category as the Grinch, someone who could potentially spoil Christmas. But really, all I wanted to do is to help my children live through the holiday season, and hopefully, enjoy it in the process.

When Melanie was four years old, life had to be in black or white. The "grey areas" felt intolerable to her. For instance, on Halloween, she could not bring herself to step outdoors. Just the thought of seeing people dressed in costumes freaked her out. She could not handle Ambiguity. And so, with Santa, she was doomed. She survived the last ten Christmases (and Halloween) because, when she was four years old, I calmly assured her that the Santa who climbs down chimneys with gifts is a make-believe Christmas character, and that ordinary people dress up in costumes on Halloween and in Santa suits on Christmas. My words served as the security blanket she held onto as she lived through the holiday season year after year. Armed with "the truth" about Santa, Melanie began to tell other children that Santa is not real, and almost spoiled Christmas for them, according to the parents of those children. My next conversation with Melanie had to be about respecting other people's beliefs when they differ from hers. She understood and aligned with the grown-ups to keep the truth about Santa a secret, sealing her vow with that I-know-what-you-mean, one-eye wink.

With Audrey, it is almost the same story, but not really. This Christmas marked the first time we spent Christmas Eve at our own home since Audrey turned three years old. At last, here was my chance to pursue an inquiry: Can a child of mine believe in Santa? So, after we've had our Christmas Eve dinner, I told Audrey that perhaps Santa will come to our house this year since we would be home. Audrey froze. She knew who I was talking about. No smile. Wasn't she singing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" over and over just the other night? Then a panic attack. "He's coming to our house? Waah!" Oh dear. The seven-year-old grandson of the Haights with whom we had Christmas Eve dinner, told her she has nothing to be scared about, and that Santa arrives only when the children are asleep. "And you should put out milk and cookies for Santa, and carrots for the reindeers," he advised. Audrey turned to me and whispered, "I don't want Santa to have a sleepover at our house." All the adults assured her that Santa does not stay for the night at people's houses because he has to bring presents to all the children in the world. Audrey looked anything but excited. She worried about it all the way home. She worried about it when she stepped into our house. She brushed her teeth, changed into her pajamas, and hopped into bed. I decided to reinforce the story of Christmas - that it is actually the celebration of Jesus' birthday. "Three kings from far away came to see him and gave Him presents when He was born. That is why we give and get presents on Christmas as a way to celebrate the birthday of Jesus." My attempt to justify gift-giving at Christmas time, as you can see. Then I read her an illustrated version of the poem, "The Night Before Christmas." I read parts of the foreword section, particularly the part that says that Clement Clarke Moore wrote the poem for his children and created the concept and image of Santa in a red suit with a round belly, rosy cheeks and a hearty laugh. I also told her that St. Nicholas and the three kings were real people who lived a long time ago, while Santa was just Moore's invention. She was very sleepy by now and flatly told me, "Just read the book, Mom." When I finished reading, she asked me to stay with her until she falls asleep (which is what I do every night anyway). And before she nodded off to slumberland, she said, "Mom, don't put out any milk and cookies and carrots." A strategic move, I thought. A guarantee of protection against the irreconcilable, worrisome thoughts. That night, I wrapped the things I bought for her and Melanie and put them on the table next to our fireplace where all the presents received from friends and family were placed (we do not have a tree). The next morning, I heard Audrey coming down the stairs while I was in the kitchen. She ran to me and exclaimed, "Mom, Santa did come. We have presents!" Later, after all the presents have been opened, she said to me, "Mom, I now know that Santa is real. Remember? We saw him." I remembered the Santa we saw several days before. No, it was not one of those Santas at the department store with whom children take pictures while sitting on their laps (I don't do those things with my children). It was a black man, dressed in a Santa suit, standing on a sidewalk in Boston, chatting with another man in street clothes. He waved at us as we passed him in my car. That experience, and the presents she found on Christmas morning, seems enough evidence that Santa is real. For now. So, yes, a child of mine actually says she believes in Santa.

Audrey is practical. She decided to make peace with the notion of Santa so that she can fully enjoy the occasion. She would rather spend time opening presents, relaxing, and having fun, than spend hours agonizing and trying to make sense of the mountain of information the world (which includes her mother) throws at her about Christmas and Santa. As for Melanie, she stayed true to herself all these years while letting others remain true to themselves. That's admirable. And no, I am not a Grinch. I may be rated by others as "low-key" when it comes to presents and festivities around Christmas time, but I am certainly not a Grinch. Till next Christmas...

P.S.-The picture attached to this post was taken in 2005 when Audrey was two and Melanie was ten years old. We also stayed home for Christmas Eve because Audrey had a heavy cold. No awareness of Santa back then.