The Great We-Don't-Do-Santa Debate

I have a vision of the Christmas that I want for my kid. It’s warm and twinkly. It’s got a tree and many meaningful ornaments. It involves good smells and big meals and baking. It features wild excitement and anticipation, can’t-wait-for-morning feelings, and lots of presents. But ideally, I’d love if it could exclude one little tiny minor thing: Santa. My son, Lou, is 4 years old, and until recently we had successfully avoided the subject, but this year, the questions started. It was only September when he started asking about things he’d picked up at school. “Santa lives in the North Pole?” he asked me one night at bedtime. Unprepared, I managed a noncommittal “Mm-hmm, I guess so!” and told him to put on his PJs. That satisfied the issue in the moment, but I know it’s time to think this through, because “mm-hmm” won’t cut it as a long-term strategy.

I never believed in Santa as a kid. My sister, a year and a half my senior, came on the scene first, and, displaying a disdain for bullsh*t that she’s never shaken, demanded that my parents level with her. My mom was already leaning anti-Santa — she hates to lie to us and, as far as I know, never has. This was a woman who readily admitted to her pot-smoking past when I interrogated her about it at age 11. I think she was happy, even relieved, to cave. We became a Santa-less household, and I didn’t spend even a single season thinking he was real.

But man, did I love Christmas. As far back as I can remember, I hardly slept on Christmas Eve, anxious to reach 6 a.m. so I could shake my parents awake and run downstairs to open presents. I loved carols, colored lights, tinsel — all of it. It felt magical, even without the promise of actual magic.

If Christmas is all about giving, then shouldn’t everybody know where the gifts really came from?

In fact, I have only one negative memory having to do with Santa. I was around 7 or 8, playing at my friend Anna’s house, and the topic of Christmas came up. There was a present she particularly wanted Santa to bring her, and I felt it was my duty to tell her what I knew: Santa’s not real, and the present is probably under your parents’ bed. Together, we snuck into their bedroom — and sure enough, there it was.

I can’t remember if Anna was mad at me for ruining Santa for her, but I still think about it all the time. Especially now. I picture Lou at his preschool, with all his little buddies, and I hate the idea of him ruining something for them the way I did for poor Anna. And yet, I still feel so resistant to the whole deal. Sure, intellectually, it rubs me the wrong way — I don’t love the idea of lying to my kid, and I really hate all the implications about “good behavior” equaling more stuff. But more than that, I think the real reason is actually about energy. I have limited amounts, and I can’t imagine spending any of it dreaming up stories about elves or believably leaving out cookies and milk. Without any fond memories of my own to draw from, my heart’s just not in it.

I got further clarification recently at a semi-annual gathering of college friends. My friend Sabrina is a single mom who has a 9-year-old son, and she said she felt quite honestly pissed to have to cede the credit to some made-up guy. It wasn’t just about credit, though — it’s also about creating a connection with her son. “I want him to open a present and be like, ‘Mommy thought of you and thought you would like this and took her small pile of money and got it for you,’” she told me.

For me, I realized, this cut to the heart of the matter. If Christmas is all about giving, then shouldn’t everybody know where the gifts really came from and understand the love and care that went into getting them? Why bring Santa into it, at all?

I thought again of my friend Anna, the presents under the bed, and the fear of ruining it for kids who believe. Is that the biggest “why” for keeping the Santa myth going? Sabrina told me that’s a huge part of it for her; she knows her son would share his intel with friends, and she dreads angry calls from their parents.

Evidence of the truth is everywhere, and kids who do believe must do it because they really want to.

Talking to Sabrina inspired me to text Anna about the Santa incident, despite the fact that we hadn’t spoken in years. Did she even remember it? Twenty minutes after my text, I was in the grocery store when she responded with a call. “Oh, my God, yes, I remember it!!” she said over the phone. I ditched my shopping cart and went outside to hear her better. Not only did she know what I was talking about, she had specifics. “I wanted a three-minute ice-cream maker, and I was so excited that it was under the bed.” When I asked her if she’d felt mad at me for ruining Santa for her, she said she doesn’t remember feeling that way — more that she was in awe of my wisdom. We went on to chat for a half hour, relationship intact despite my long-ago indiscretion. All that guilt, for all those years, and it was no big deal after all?

Let’s face it: The whole Santa myth is inherently fragile. Evidence of the truth is everywhere, and kids who do believe must do it because they really want to. So I’m starting to think that, as a parent, I don’t actually have to do much beyond my noncommittal “mm-hmms.” I don’t have to initiate discussion about alternate routes to chimneys or create reindeer tracks in the snow, but I also don’t have to announce to my 4-year-old that Santa definitively does not exist. I can just let it be.

As Sabrina put it, “I’m not opposed to Santa as a character — to the joy, and the fun, and all that. I just don’t like what it gets in the way of.”

This year, to have it both ways — remain open to the magic but avoid the rest — we won’t label any presents “From: Santa” or take pictures at the mall. But when well-meaning strangers say to Lou “Did Santa come to your house?” or when he asks us to confirm key Santa details that he’s picked up, we’ll nod along. As he gets older, if he has suspicions, we’ll happily give in to them, and until then, we’ll let it ride.

And if, some year in the near future, a wiser friend clues him in before he figures it out himself? Well, that would be just fine with me.