I'm all grown-up. But I still remember when I learned that Santa wasn't real. I suppose I knew it already by the time I asked my mother to confirm the awful truth, but I was nonetheless disappointed when she did. In retrospect, I think she handled it well. She explained that we don't believe in the same things when we grow up that we did when we were children. Then she baited the hook, "And since you're thinking like a grownup, you get to celebrate with the grownups." I was sure this couldn't be as good as the fat guy with flying reindeer, but what choice did I have?
I was astonished to learn that for years—without my knowledge—adults had been having a pretty good time being Santa. They stayed up late, sang songs, wrapped gifts for my little sister, ate the cookies she'd left, and opened their presents at midnight. I was thrilled to be trusted with the secret. By the time my little sister got up to open her presents in the morning, I was older, wiser, and smug in my expanded knowledge of the secret life of grown-ups.
These days, I go to extremes to perpetuate the Santa myth for my children. I start warning them in November to watch their manners or Santa's spies will notice. (I've given Santa the technical prowess of a covert government agency to explain this invasion of privacy.) Sure, I occasionally wonder if this deception is a good idea. But it wasn't until my 13-year-old niece told me how disappointed and bitter she felt that Santa was, as she described it "all a big lie," that I wondered if I was setting my kids up for disappointment.
Should I keep an eye to the future when it came to positioning this myth in the mind of my children? Why was I going to so much trouble to lie to two small beings I'm trying to teach not to lie? And, for that matter, what exactly was I trying to teach them by elaborating on a story that has come to convey a greedy materialism that I don't believe in?
There is no doubt in my mind that Santa is both powerful and inescapable. But, in the words of another great cultural icon of our times (Spider-Man), "With great power comes great responsibility." Should I be harnessing Santa's power more carefully? The day is nearly upon us again, so I decided to figure this out.
"You don't want the child to feel like they've been lied to," agrees Dr. Tracy R. Gleason, PhD, assistant professor of psychology at Wellesley College. "This is different from a lie. It is not an intentional deception designed to hurt someone. It is designed to give them something to enjoy." Yes, that's right. This is a myth. Myths have been an important part of most cultures since the beginning of time. They serve a purpose so deep we probably can't fully articulate it. But they certainly convey a concept that's important to our culture—past and present. This one has been evolving for centuries and is about the power of generosity, giving to others, caring for our fellow human, etc. It's also—in no small part—about selling toys. But it is not a mere lie.
The trick, says Dr. Gleason, is to position Santa Claus so that when you take him away there is still plenty left of the holiday to enjoy—and to let Santa go slowly as your child is ready to release him. Kids usually stop believing in Santa when they are about eight; that's when they are able to reason logically. But the age can vary depending on factors as out of your control as older siblings who spoil the fun, their own desire to perpetuate the myth, and their personal need for things to have a logical explanation. They can start asking about it, though, as soon as they can formulate the question.
Mom, Is Santa Real?
Handling that question is a bit tricky, and there is no single way to deal with it. You can follow this rule though: The first time your child asks, "Is Santa real?" don't just spill it. "You don't have to make the full transition in one year," says Dr. Gleason. "One year your child might realize Santa can't really go to all those houses in one night. The next year it might be something else. Take your cues from the child." And keep in mind that each child is different. Some will want to know definitively one way or the other. Another might ask even though they are not at all ready to hear the truth.
Instead of blurting out, "Yep, the whole thing is just a con intended to make you obey!" Ask a question: "What do you think?" That way you can do a little spying of your own and glean what she's looking for before you blow your cover. And don't underestimate the power of a child's desire to believe—just because she wants to. I believed in Santa until I was nine, despite obvious evidence to the contrary. For one thing my siblings and I knew where my parents hid the presents. We played with them for weeks before Christmas—every time my oldest brother got the job of babysitting. I was at the age of logical reason noted by experts for a year (and had been getting a sneak peak for longer) before I chose to give up the fat guy. I just refused to think about it.
Planning for the inevitable is also a good idea. The goal, says Dr. Gleason, "Is to eventually transfer their enjoyment of Santa to a broader enjoyment of Christmas as a whole. Shift the emphasis to being with family or something that you feel is important about the holiday." So far, I've been using Santa mostly as "the enforcer" for things like manners and being helpful around the house. It works very well. But the day itself carries with it some big lessons. Sure Santa's image is tainted with massive commercialism, but the concept of a superhero (Santa) whose special gift is extreme generosity is pretty powerful. And while I can't control the images that my kids see with regard to Santa, I can control the message—to a certain extent—that those images convey.
Santa is a happy and magical guy. Presumably the thing that makes him so is that he gives generously, even to people he doesn't know. Surely I can use that as a teaching moment. In fact, I guess I already do. I help my kids buy presents for everyone on their list each year. On year, my then-six-year-old son bought me a sweater that I love. He's long forgotten what he got for Christmas, but every time I wear that sweater he feels proud that he made me happy.
A Big Kid Transition
Essentially, I have learned, this is mostly a matter of spin. Instead of looking upon it as the moment when the bubble bursts on a giant lie, I view it as a transition. "It is a right of passage," agrees Dr. Gleason. "Maybe not in the same sense as puberty but it's a small step toward adulthood."
My nine-year-old daughter still firmly believes in Santa—or so she says—though she has asked several times if he is real and her brother has told her in no uncertain terms that he is not. But two years ago, I took a page from my mother's book and included my son – now 12—in the night-before-ritual of being Santa. He thrilled in it, just as I remembered doing when I was his age. And he was careful not to burst his sister's bubble for at least a year afterwards. Sometimes I see him long for the time when he believed –when we ran into what might have been the real Santa on vacation at Target recently and Ava acted like there was a celebrity in our midst—but there is still so much he enjoys about that holiday that it doesn't set him back much. For now, perpetuating the myth by creating credible stories to keep his sister on the hook (alternating with announcements that the whole thing is a lie, safe in the knowledge that she doesn't really believe anything he says) is just one more thing he enjoys about the holiday.
I hate to admit this, but maybe my mother knew what she was doing. I have fond memories of my rite of passage from Santa believer to Santa imitator. I can see that my son is enjoying his current role in the myth as much as he enjoyed being a Santa believer. And making that transition a happy one was all just a matter of spin. Sure when you give up believing in the fat man and the sleigh, you give up an icon. But you also gain a secret and a powerful responsibility to contribute to making younger children happy. It is a secret that separates the big kids from the little ones. And every 12-year-old wants one of those.
[This is a version of a piece I originally wrote for Babyzone.com when my kids were much younger. --Christina]
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