A few months ago, I posted a belated eulogy to my friend Rob who passed away unexpectedly in October 2018. It dealt with immortality and its many forms. Today I would like to revisit the subject with an important topic most parents who celebrate a secular Christmas must deal with at some point or another.
For
years I agonized about how I would explain the Santa Claus myth to my children
once they got too old to believe (although are any of us really too old to
believe in the everlasting symbol and spirit of Christmas?).
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As
a child, after hearing kids at school claim there was no Santa Claus, I had to
know for sure and I asked my mother to give it to me straight. She sat me down
and explained the truth. I felt cheated. I felt like one of the happiest parts
of my life had been a lie and that I had been deliberately deceived by those I
trusted most. I vowed that if I ever had children, I would not lie to them the
way I had been lied to.
But
then kids happened. My older was born a few days before Christmas, so I had at least
a full year to figure out what to do about the St. Nick myth. Because that guy
is everywhere during the holidays. In songs, on television, peeking cryptically
from the covers of books and magazines, winking from greeting cards, his droll
little mouth drawn up like a bow everywhere you looked.
So
that presented a dilemma. I could refuse to perpetuate the myth, but that would
merely cause confusion when every other source of incoming information says
that Santa Claus does, in fact, exist. Even the editor of the (now defunct) New
York Sun once insisted to a little girl that "Yes, Virginia, There is a
Santa Claus." And Santa symbolizes so much cheer and goodwill, wouldn't it
be cruel to deny my kids a decade of magic and merriment in imagining the right
jolly old elf visited once a year, courtesy of a team of flying reindeer, to
bring them toys and treats? I've seen Miracle on 34th
Street and always thought the mother character so cold in denying her
daughter the joy of Santa Claus (well, the joke was on her, am I right?)
So
we went with it. We perpetuated the myth, all the while dreading the day I
would be asked to elucidate on exactly how one man can traverse an entire planet
in a single night with enough room on his sleigh for toys for every single
child. Or how he could live for so long, being the benevolent bearer of gifts
for generation after generation of kids from one to ninety-two. For a while, as they grew older and more dubious,
certain sources would act as a salve to their doubt. The Polar Express deals
with doubt and belief in a beautiful fashion. The various Rankin/Bass
stop-motion specials provided Kris Kringle origin stories and explanations and
affirmations and perfectly perpetuated the myth for years. The aforementioned
Miracle on 34th Street, which proved, irrefutably, in a courtroom,
that Santa Claus exists.
Then,
one day, it happened. My older came home from school and reported a teacher who said
that Santa Claus didn't exist and that anyone who still believed in him was too
old for such. Okay, real quick: If you're not the child's parent YOU DO NOT GET
TO DECIDE WHEN OR HOW THEY LEARN ABOUT SANTA CLAUS. I cannot stress this
enough. You do not get to do that. Go have your own children and tell it to them,
but leave mine out of it especially when it's none of your damn business. They'll come to you when they're ready to know. Kids are smarter than they're often given credit for; trust their instincts.
So
I sat her down and asked her what she knew about immortality. Being a Star Wars
fanatic, she cited blue force ghosts and Luke Skywalker sagely advising:
"No one's ever really gone." We talked about different forms of
immortality. I told her no one physically lives forever, not even Santa Claus,
but he's very much alive in other forms. Dozens of songs and poems keep his
spirit alive. Hundreds of programs and films. I played the man once in a 3rd grade play. I told her to just look around at
Christmastime: Santa is everywhere. She asked if he's not alive in body, then
who delivers all the presents on Christmas Eve? I explained that St. Nicholas
is based on a real person who did deliver presents to children at one time and
that while he may no longer be alive, his legacy lives on. He's become bigger
than a living person could ever possibly be, not a myth, but a legend. Santa
Claus is the most recognized face on the planet. He has become an idea and an
ideal. He has been immortalized in song and story, and in that way can never
die. She still looked doubtful and said, "So you're Santa Claus
then?" This is the question I had been waiting for. I clinched it for her.
I
said, "Anyone who knows the truth about Santa Claus becomes him. Yes, I
am Santa Claus. Your mother is Santa Claus. So are your grandparents, your
aunts and uncles. Everyone who has ever given gifts in his name is Santa
Claus. And now, with this knowledge, you are Santa Claus. He lives on through
you."
That did the trick. All was well. She was satisfied. I'd done my job as a parent as honestly as I could and didn't cheat her (at least I hope; I'm sure some will attempt to correct me on that). I proved to her that Santa does exist, as sure as she exists. Or as her idol Luke Skywalker might have paraphrased: "A thousand generations of Santa live in you now."
And then, as a kind of epilogue, and, admittedly, to not destroy all belief in one fell swoop, I told her--and this is 100% true, something I'll swear to with my dying breath, whether or not you choose to believe it--that shortly after I learned "the truth," I fell asleep on the couch one Christmas Eve and around midnight blinked awake to see Santa standing nearby, admiring our tree. He turned his head to me, touched a finger to his lips, smiled, and vanished. I'm sure it was nothing more than the fading remnants of a kid's last hope clinging to the myth he'd believed for nearly a decade. That has to be it. Right?
Right?
Merry Christmas to those who celebrate the holiday and best wishes for a Happy
New Year.
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