Santa Secrets

I learned the truth about Santa Claus early on in my life.  It was Christmas 1980, when I was in first grade.  All the tags on the gifts Santa left me were written in my mom's handwriting, and the nice note Santa left in exchange for the cookies I left him was written in my dad's handwriting.  This confirmed the suspicions I had the year earlier, when my grandpa mysteriously left Christmas Eve dinner, and "Santa," wearing my grandpa's shirt under his red suit, dropped by for a visit.  I knew they were trying to be sneaky, but I wished they had tried harder. 

Somehow, I thought that if I let on that I knew the truth, my parents would be mad at me.  So I let it slide for a couple more years and successfully kept up my end of the bargain.  Finally, in third grade, I sidled up to my mom one day as Christmas approached.  With my best wide-eyed look of little girl innocence, hoping the lights from the Christmas tree would cast a warm glow on my little face and further add to my facade, I asked, "Mommy, some of the kids in school have been saying there's no such thing as Santa Claus.  Is that true?"

Damn.  The look on my mother's face was enough to convince me that I should have kept my mouth shut, at least for another year.  "Well, there's the idea of Santa Claus.  It's the spirit of Santa Claus that people believe in," she told me, crestfallen.  I was disappointed, too, because, somehow, I had hoped she would tell me that I'd had it all wrong.

It's made me wonder how to broach the subject with my own kids.  Croc is only a baby, so Santa won't be on his radar for another couple of years.  But at age three, Pumpkin is fully aware of the concept.  And she's decided she hates the guy, which is complicating matters this year.  "No Santa?" she's asked me on a daily basis since Halloween.  And she doesn't mean, "There's no Santa, right?"  She means, "Please, for the love of God, don't make me go near that creepy dude, much less make me sit on his lap.  I don't give a rat's ass if he *does* have presents."

I can't say I blame her.  Personally, I'm terrified of clowns, and I can see how a big, bearded, loud-mouthed stranger might fit into the same category.  (Although if a clown came bearing a shiny gift in a Tiffany box, I might reconsider.  Might.)  Plus, look at how we describe the guy.  "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake" - who the hell is this, a stalker?  If he weren't so famous, we'd be getting a restraining order against him. 

Anyway, we're not sure how to explain what's about to happen on December 25th of this year.  Pumpkin's own suggestion was, "Buy presents at store.  Not Santa bring presents."

Huh.  That kid seems pretty smart.  Wonder where she gets it?

An original DC Metro Moms post.  Diana regularly dispels other myths and spoils the fun at Caffeinated.