No Santa

Two nights ago my family and I sat down to watch the Christmas film The Polar Express. The film centers on a young boy who is starting to disbelieve the Santa Claus story. His faith in the story is increased after a magical journey to the North Pole aboard a supernatural locomotive. At the North Pole he receives a present from Santa: a magical jingle bell that only those who believe in Santa Claus can hear.

As I watched the film I pondered the great lengths that people in our culture go to in order to perpetuate the Santa Claus story. They tell children, when they are young and impressionable, about this rotund man who rides from house to house delivering toys to children in a flying sled pulled by magical reindeer, and they convince them that this story is true. And then, when the children get a little bit older and begin to question the veracity of this story, they use stories like The Polar Express and The Santa Claus and Elf and Miracle on 34th Street to ridicule them for having the audacity to question the preposterous nature of the story.

No wonder, when they get older, children get resentful and don't trust their parents!

My wife and I never presented the Santa Claus story as real. Neither did we tell our children there was an Easter Bunny or a Tooth Fairy. We were both serious Christians, and we reasoned that what kind of integrity would we have in our children's eyes if we told them all of those stories were true? How could our children ever believe what we were saying about Jesus? Because Christian or Jew or Muslim or Atheist, I think everyone can agree on this: If the story of a man in a red suit delivering presents sounds ridiculous, and if the story of a pink lagomorph sneaking into a home with candy on Easter Day sounds ridiculous, and if the story of a supernatural creature exchanging your worthless teeth for human money sounds ridiculous, then the story of a young teenage girl getting impregnated by the one and only God and bearing a child who walked on water, healed the sick, single handedly multiplied fish and bread, was executed as payment for the sins of the world (including all of the sins that had as yet not occurred), and then--after being buried for three days--rose from the dead like a zombie and then swooshed off into heaven like Superman, sounds just as ridiculous. How could we say to our children, "No, THESE improbable sounding stories were all invented by our society as sort of a way of just messing with kids, but THIS improbable sounding story--it's true!"? We didn't think we could do that. So we didn't.

So our kids grew up without Santa Claus. Well, that's not exactly true. It's impossible to escape from Santa Claus at Christmas time, so we did have to explain what in the world that was all about. We told the children that the adults and children were all playing a game where they pretended that Santa Claus was real and brought the presents. It was the best explanation we could come up with. And our children never really bought it.

I remember talking with my older daughter about it when she was about four years old, and she already understood that our explanation wasn't quite right. "They're all playing a game?" she asked like an attorney leading me into a trap.

"Yes," I said. "It's just a way to get excited about Christmas."

"But the children think that Santa Claus is real?"

"Yes," I said. "That's what their parents tell them."

"But all of the parents know that he's NOT?"

"That's right."

Her eyes narrowed a little. "That doesn't seem like a game, then. That seems like a lie."

I didn't really have an answer for that, so I just kind of stared at her for a moment before slowly saying, "Yeahhhhhhh, but now, here's the thing: you can't tell anyone who believes in Santa that he's not real."

"Why not?"

I smiled. "Well, a couple of reasons. One, they're not going to believe you--they're only going to get mad at you. And the parents are going to be mad, too, because if you tell them it's not real, then the game is over."

"You mean the LIE is over."

I stared at her again. "You can't tell anyone."

And of course, they didn't believe me. They had to find out for themselves. I distinctly remember my younger daughter running into a relative's house one summer day holding her forehead and screaming in pain. When she finally calmed down I found out what she was screaming about: her younger cousin had beaned her in the head with a rock. As Lisa went and got some ice for the obvious welt that was growing on her head, I said, "Why would he do that?"

She said, "Because I told him that Santa Claus wasn't real!" Before I could say anything she said, "I know you told me not to, but I did. I'm sorry..."

I'm not telling this story to brag on what terrific, wonderful parents Lisa and I are. In fact, I'm not even sure that's true. Sometimes I even worry that it may be the exact opposite. I don't even know how big of a deal it is to "play" the Santa Claus "game." Lisa and I both believed in Santa Claus, and I don't think we're any worse for the wear. One night when my older daughter was a little bit older, maybe in upper elementary school, as I was tucking her into bed for the night she said to me, "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"I know there's no such thing as Santa Claus, but sometimes I wish...I wish I had believed in him once..."

I thought about that as I went upstairs to say good night to the girls after watching The Polar Express the other night (No, I don't tuck them into bed anymore--I quit doing that a long time ago--but I still say goodnight to them most nights.). I went into my younger daughter's room and said, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Dad. Will you close the door?"

"Sure," I said as I started to close the door, and then I turned and said, "Hey..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you missed some essential childhood experience because you never believed in Santa Claus?"

"No!" she answered, as if I had asked her the most ridiculous question in the world.

"Do you think Christmas would have been more exciting if you had?"

"No!" she said. "Christmas is pretty awesome! It's the presents that matter. No one cares who brings them as long as you get them!"

"That's good to hear," I said as I closed her door. "Goodnight!"

I walked into my older daughter's room. "Goodnight," I said. "Hey, do you still wish you used to have believed in Santa Claus?"

"What?"

"When you were little you told me that you WISHED you'd believed in Santa Claus once. Do you still believe that?"

She shook her head. "I don't remember that. I think you're making it up. And no."

I repeated the question I'd asked my younger daughter. "You don't think you missed some essential childhood experience by not believing in Santa Claus?"

"No way!" she said. "I'm GLAD he's not real!"

"Really? Why?"

"Because," she said, "some weirdo, old, stranger guy I don't know creeping into our house in the middle of the night?" She play acted a shiver. "Gives me the creeps!"

I laughed. "Never thought of it that way. When you say it that way, I kind of agree with you." I thought for a moment. "So you don't think Christmas is any less exciting because you don't believe in Santa Claus?"

Her eyes widened and she got serious. "What are you saying, Dad? Am I not getting my iPod Touch?"

I laughed. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all." I thought for a moment and then added, "I'm not saying you ARE, either." I looked up at her ceiling, trying to figure out what I WAS trying to say. "I guess I'm just wondering, would it have been nice for you to have heard that bell once, too?"

"Dad," she said.

"Yes?"

"You and Mom are good parents. Just go to bed."

So I did...