Last night my daughter revealed to my wife that she “found out” about Santa Claus the way most of us do: from some wise-ass on the bus ride home from school. After trying to console her, my wife came down the stairs feeling sad and asked me to see if I could do anything to help the situation. I leapt into action, thrilled that the truth was finally out.
This day was long overdue. I mean, middle school has cometh! I’ve wanted to tell her and her twin brother the truth about Santa for the past year, but every time I consulted another parent on the matter, they said “oh no, let them believe as long as they can.” Such advice was no surprise, given the over-protection philosophy that dominates parenting today, but I couldn’t help but think how foolish my kids will feel when the other kids at school find out they still believe. I especially worried for the boy—believing in Santa Claus too long is the kind of thing that could get you stuffed into a locker.
Coming to Grips With the Truth
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how either of them still believed. After all, they’re smarter than me and have access to the internet. I figured out the truth when I was seven, after overhearing my uncle ask my dad, “What did you, er, Santa bring Matthew this year?” My wife even told them last year that “Santa isn’t real,” but they just said “uh-huh” while staring at the TV. Were we so good at keeping up the Santa charade all these years that they don’t even believe their own mother anymore?
Hopping on my daughter’s bed I looked at her and said, “So I heard you found out the truth about Santa.” She admitted disappointment, but when I suggested she must have had her doubts, she conceded she did. “So,” I said, “you want to know how we do it?” This got her excited. Her mom, snooping outside the bedroom door, then walked in with our six-year-old in tow. “No mom, you’ve got to get out of here!” our eldest commanded. She wanted the dirt on how Santa worked and knew I wouldn’t divulge the intel with her little sister around.
One Down, One to Go
Once the offending players left the scene, I told her about our secret hiding place in the attic and how we snuck presents past their bedroom doors. I told her about presents that were hidden in plain sight, and about setting up toys in the middle of the night while Mom placed presents around the tree. Then I asked her if she wanted to help me this Christmas. I remembered that when I found out the truth, my parents had me help with Santa for my sisters, and it kept the magic of Christmas alive for me. In fact, it made it even better. My daughter was IN. She jumped at the idea and asked me when we can begin. Dad for the win!
Now there’s only one problem left: I’ve got to tell her brother. Hopefully, in the spirit of giving, she will tell him for me.