'Twas 2 Weeks Before Christmas...

My oldest kid is 11, she’s in the sixth grade, she stands about 5’ 2” and wears a women’s size eight shoe…She also passionately believes in Santa Claus. So passionately that she was engaging in verbal smack-downs with kids in her class who had the nerve to say the Jolly Old Elf isn’t real.

My enthusiastic girl

And, it’s not just Santa. My delightful, cheerful and whimsical oldest child is equally passionate about the existence of the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, mermaids, unicorns and dragons. She believes with every fiber of her being because she wants to live in the kind of world where these fantastic things can be true (Ironically, she also loves science – it’s her best subject in school...so there’s that).

The latest kerfuffle in class made me realize we couldn’t put it off any more – we had to come clean and tell her that there was no real, live, physical person, jolly or otherwise, who poofed down our chimney on Christmas Eve to leave a pile of gifts in the middle of the room, along with cute notes and the occasional repair services for a beloved toy.

We’ve let her go on believing because we didn’t want to snuff out that spark of fantasy and imagination that make her who she is. And, from a logistics perspective, we’ve kept it going because she’s the oldest of three kids and our youngest is only five, so we need to find a way to enlighten her without ruining it for everyone.

Further complicating the whole thing – I am a giant sap about Christmas. I mean, HUGE. I cry about The Polar Express, creepy CGI and all. I weep at the end of Elf when the singing makes Santa’s sleigh fly. Beautiful light displays and Bing Crosby singing about a white Christmas make me sniffle. Christmas hits a big, red emotional button for me…which is probably why I put so much effort into Santa’s PR.

What do you do when you need to peel back the narrative you’ve been telling your kid for the past eleven years without blowing her joy and wonder to smithereens? Damned it I knew.

I’ve been worrying about this since last Christmas and hoping she would just figure it out on her own as she heard her friends not believing. Instead, she kept on fervently defending Santa – and stubbornly believing with every hopeful particle of her being.

Then I got an idea…no, not a terrible, awful idea since I am not a Grinch. Instead, I got an idea that involved Starbucks, grown-up treats and puberty. Weird, huh?

I asked her to go to bed early Friday and jerked her out of bed before her sisters could get up on Saturday morning. We ran off to Starbucks together for coffee, hot cocoa and a doughnut. Then, huddled together in a bright, sunny corner with Christmas music and the whoosh of espresso machines in the background, and I told her a story:

"It started a long, long time ago, in a land far to the north, where it’s very, very dark at this time of the year. And in this place, there was an old man who didn’t want children to be sad or afraid. So, on the darkest day of the year, he would bring the children presents, leaving them on the front step or hearth. Just something little to brighten their lives and remind them the sun would come again. 

"This brought such joy to the children, that he kept doing it every year for as long as he could, and the tradition began to spread as other people shared it and began bringing gifts to children in their village. This man was called Sinter Klaas by some people, St. Nicholas, or Father Christmas by others, but you’ve always known him as Santa Claus."

“And he became magic so he could keep doing it?” She asked eagerly. I took her hand and continued.

"This was so very long ago, back in the year 500 or so. Though the man was very good and lived a very long time, he didn’t live forever and eventually he died and couldn’t bring the children gifts any more. This made everyone very sad, so they decided to keep it going. The parents in the town told their children about the wonderful man, Santa Claus, and gave their children gifts in his name to honor the memory of the joy he brought. 

"And here’s where the magic comes in, parents have kept doing that – from generation to generation, passed from parent to child over and over again – for more than 1,500 years. That’s a really long time and thousands of generations of parents and children sharing the wonder and joy that special man created and there is amazing magic in that."

At this point, I was crying, but she was smiling and nodding, so I kept going.

"Now that you’re getting bigger and becoming a young woman (there’s the puberty part rearing its uncomfortable head), it’s time for me to share the magic with you. It’s a sacred duty to the memory and legend of Santa that we continue the tradition across the generations, that we help make this magic to celebrate making it half-way through the dark, and to bring joy and wonder to children.  

"So, now that you know the truth – how parents and children for hundreds of years have helped spread Santa’s magic, will you join us and help create that joy for your sisters?"

She pulled her hand free from mine, grabbed a napkin off of the table and swiped at the tears running down my face. She frowned a bit, “So, what you’re saying is that I get a chance to be part of the magic now? That I can make children believe in Santa and that I’ll get to do this for my own kids too?”

“Yes, my little girl, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“COOL!” A smile burst across her face.  Her bright green eyes lit with joy, she pounced on me and gave me a crushing hug, nearly smacking my coffee off the table with her usual overabundance of enthusiasm.

I eased her back a bit, “You’re okay then?”

“I’m so excited! This is cool that I get to be part of this for my sisters! So, is that where we’re going now? To pick out gifts for Santa to give them? Do I get to help with that now? I can keep secrets and I promise to help make it wonderful for them too! What are we going to get them?”

I laughed and hugged her, and cried a little more because I just had to. I should have known all along that this bright soul would jump at the chance to make something special and magical for other people.

So, off we went to be Santa’s helpers and keep the magic going. Every so often as we shopped she would stop and exclaim, “Oh! I just thought of something else…” as a memory or question would pop in her head. Then she hugged and thanked me after every detailed answer I gave – unraveling years of stories and cover-ups – because, “now I know it was really you working hard to make it special.” Good thing I had tissues with me.

By the time we got home, we’d cleared up questions about the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy too, but she’s still pretty sure dragons are hiding somewhere.

Joy to the World

You Must be St. Nick…

In the days since, she has carefully talked to me only when her sisters aren’t around to hear, so she can strategize with me how we’ll make Santa’s visit extra special this year.

She’s also has a new way to deal with friends who trash talk Santa. She tells them the legend and that they should thank their parents for making their childhood magical. The other day, she told a kid off for trying to ruin it for younger kids by saying Santa isn’t real. She’s a warrior elf, fighting the good fight for kindness, wonder, and joy.

As for me, there’s a lot about parenting that is frustrating, confusing and defeating, so I’m taking a moment to bask in the satisfaction of getting this one little thing right.

Happy Christmas!