Last night my 11-year-old daughter Chloe revealed to my wife Liz that she “found out” about Santa Claus the way most of us do: from some wise-ass on the bus ride home from school. Liz came down the stairs feeling sad for Chloe – said Chloe was in tears – and asked me to go upstairs and console her. I leapt into action, thrilled that the truth was finally out.
This day was long overdue. I mean, she’s turning 12 in a couple months – it was time! I’ve wanted to tell her and her twin brother Max 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 Max – for boys, believing in Santa Claus too long is the kind of thing that could get you stuffed into a locker.
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 7, after overhearing my uncle ask my dad what he, er, Santa brought me. Liz even told them last year that “Santa isn’t real,” but they just said “uh-huh” while staring at the TV. Were Liz and I so good at keeping up the Santa charade all these years, they didn’t even believe their own mother?
Jumping on Chloe’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. Liz, hovering outside the door to see if I was doing a good job restoring Chloe’s pep, then walked in with our 6-year-old in tow. “No mom, you’ve got to get out of here!” Chloe begged. She wanted the dirt on how Santa worked, and knew I wouldn’t divulge the intel with her little sister around.
Once the offending players were removed from the scene, I told her about our secret hiding place in the attic and how we snuck presents downstairs 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 Liz 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. Chloe jumped at the idea and her pluck was now fully restored. Another win for Dad! Now there’s only one problem left: I’ve got to tell Max. Hopefully, in the spirit of giving, Chloe will tell her brother for me.
