Santa

My daughter cottoned on to the truth about Santa this year (she’s a nine-year-old fourth grader). A week before Christmas we were riding along in the car and she said, “Hey Mom, are you the Easter Bunny?” Now my husband prefers me to dodge these questions with mental wit and verbal elegance, as in: “Do I look like a bunny?”

But I take a different view. “Yup,” I said.

“I thought so,” she replied knowingly.

We were on our way to buy a Christmas present for one of her brothers. He desperately wanted a step ladder for Christmas (along with a white board and a stapler) and I had forgotten about it until just a few days before The Big Event. So there we are, Tara and the Easter Bunny, driving to get a Christmas present for her brother. Surely, I thought, she’ll piece together the theorem

IF
1. I’m the Easter Bunny
AND
2. I’m purchasing the desperately-wished-for gift for her bro
THEN
3. I’m Santa

But no. The mind doth cling to its version of things, even when confronted with an abundance of contravening evidence (this is why people still believe in astronomy, creationism and dieting). So on we marched toward Christmas with the Santa Claus myth intact.

On Christmas Eve the kids were wired and stayed up late. I was not happy.

I should explain here that my husband and I are a tired people. We are neither night owls nor early risers. Rather, we like to go to bed early and wake up late, achieving a nice 10 hours of sleep per night. I tell you all this so you’ll understand how exhausted I was by eleven o’clock Christmas Eve when my daughter finally got into bed.

I waited a good fifteen minutes, then went down and performed the Santa miracle. I stuffed the stockings, left the gifts, ate the cookies, answered the questions in the note (yes, I really wear a red suit; my favorite color is green; the reindeer like carrots and apples). I wearily grumbled and grumped the whole time. Ah, the spirit of Christmas.

Christmas morning was a delight. The kids were sweet and excited but also generous and loving. The step ladder was a hit. Tara even designed an in-home church service, so the day wasn't simply a materialistic Bacchanalia.

That night, Tara and I were snuggling and she said, “Mom, are you Santa?”

I glanced around. My husband was occupied with the boys. “You really want to know?” I asked. She nodded. “For real?” I pressed. (In our house, “for real” is the safety phrase – we never kid, lie, joke, exaggerate when we’re asked something “for real.” We give the truth. Nothing but the truth.) She nodded.

“Yup,” Santa said.

She nodded again. “You should have waited longer before putting all the presents out,” she replied tartly. “I came out of my room a few minutes after you left and all the presents were here. But I wasn’t asleep. And the song says ‘he knows when you’re asleep.’ So why did he come when I wasn’t asleep?”

A miscalculation about someone’s REM state—that’s what did the guy in. Not the whole implausibility of delivering gifts to a planet of 8 billion people in one night. Not the fact that his elves are capable of making Nintendo DS’s, American Girl dolls and motorized mini-Jeeps. Not the fact that we donate gifts for poor kids whose parents can’t afford gifts and who for some inexplicable reason aren’t getting the Nintendo from Santa.

As I said, the mind is a terrible thing to reason with.

But back to my now traumatized daughter.

“Are you disappointed?” I asked. She nodded. Her dad came over and said, “Ah Tara, now your childhood is over.”

I jumped in. “No it isn’t. Tara, I didn’t believe in Santa as a kid, and I loved Christmas. To me, the real magic of Christmas is creating the miracle for each other. It’s all about celebrating the gift of love. And,” I added, “now you’re on our team. You have to be one of Santa’s helpers for your brothers.”

Tara thought for awhile, then smiled. “Hey, how did you get that bell from Santa’s sleigh for me two years ago?”

And so together we revisited Christmases past, and Tara’s face beamed as she heard story after story about how her parents toiled and schemed to conjure the Christmas miracle for the girl they love.