This past year has been wrought with endless questions from Simone about whether or not Santa is real. I told her that many people believe in him, but that I've never personally seen him. I didn't tell her how I figured out the legend was fake when I was her age.
The year was 1980, I was 7-years-old, and Kissing Barbie was all I wanted for Christmas. I had suspected that maybe Santa Claus was a farce, but wasn't sure. Until ......... late Christmas evening - or even early Christmas morning when Santa's cover was blown. I guess my anticipation for the beloved holiday had made me sleep only lightly that night. I must have heard my bunk bed stairs creak because I woke up to find my dad placing a present about the size of a Barbie doll at the foot of my bed. I sat up very quickly and asked what he was doing. He was very cross, shooshed me and told me to go back to sleep. I immediately did as told but then immediately disobeyed when I heard him leave the room. I read the box label which said that Santa had given me the present. Now ... unless Santa's secret identity was a Filipino architect in El Monte, things were not adding up. I realized at that moment that parents and advertisers all across America were lying to innocent children!
So when Simone has ever asked about the validity of Santa's existence, I never tell her that I believe in him. I give her an answer that skirts the truth to keep some magic alive without incriminating myself as a perjurer. I take that back. Last year, I really played up the existence of Santa Claus and baked cookies for him at the request of Simone. She must have heard about this practice at school because I certainly never told her about it. But I played along (maybe because it involved food) and even wrote a letter from Santa addressed to Simone and Max. It's a bittersweet feeling to have outright lied to them to instill a little magic in the holiday. They liked it at the time and that euphoria lasted about 9 months. At the end of Summer, Simone started asking if Michael had been the one to eat the cookies we had left out for Santa. I told her an emphatic no. At first she let it go and didn't even bother to think that I was the culprit. But as Christmas drew nearer, she thought longer about the mystery of Santa and started setting her sights on me.
SIMONE: "Did youuuuu eat Santa's cookies, Mommy?"
ME: "Eh ... I don't know ..."
OF COURSE I KNEW!!!! I did eat them (voraciously) and I was lying to Simone. Last I had talked to Michael he felt we should keep up the magic. But Simone's fantasy barrier was thin and showing signs of disintegration.
Several opportunities to have breakfast with Santa came up and I asked the kids if they wanted to partake.
ME: "Hey guys, do you want to have breakfast with Santa and tell him what you want for Christmas?"
MAX: (Silent, processing the information)
SIMONE: "NO!"
ME: "Why not? Are you sure?"
SIMONE: "Yes."
ME: "Oh, you do want to see him!?"
SIMONE: "No!"
ME: "Oh, you're sure you do not want to see him."
SIMONE: "Yes."
Michael later asked me if we wanted to do it with the kids and he was surprised that kids didn't want to attend. I thought that maybe I should make sure Max did or did not want to go. If he did, we would sustain the magic for him.
ME: "Max, do you want to see Santa? You get to tell him want you want for Christmas!"
MAX: (excited) "I want to see Santa!"
SIMONE: (deadpan) "Why? He's just a guy in a suit."
MAX: (not exctied) "Oh."
Despite this confession to Max, Simone sometimes, out of the blue, would tell me that she believed in Santa. I would tell her, "That's great!" She would ask me, "Why?" My response would be, "Because he's magical!"
Finally the last nail was driven into Santa's coffin when Simone asked Michael, "Did you eat Santa's cookies last year, Daddy?" to which he replied matter-of-factly, "Yes." I guess he had changed his mind about keeping hope alive, and thus died the lore with Simone.
Honestly, I'm glad the cat is out of the bag! We've never given her a present that said it was from Santa and thinly expounding his existence and goings-on was uncomfortable. Max knows the truth now too and now maybe you do too.
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