The big question for tots: Is Santa Claus real?
I’m not sure why we, as adults, can’t answer that question with any certainty when talking to the wee ones.
When I was a wee one, Christmas was magical. The tree stood in the living room corner by the big window and not far from the fireplace. Mom strung lights all over the house and at dusk, when the lights just began to shimmer in the twilight, I could imagine all kinds of enchantment. (I still can!)
New gifts appeared under the tree everyday leading up to Christmas Eve. And then—the day arrived. The holiday atmosphere just amped already keyed up youngsters like me and my sisters.
Santa always brought the biggest presents when he came. They waited for us on the fireplace hearth when we got back.
Wait—what? Got back from where?
Well, Mom had dinner to finish and last minute things to get done on Christmas Eve. Just as the twilight hour approached, we would all be bundled into the car with Dad to go get Nanna. That worked until I hit about age 8, or was it 9? I had heard the rumors that Santa wasn’t real and I knew that Santa always came to our house on Christmas Eve when we went to get Nanna.
This year I determined that the other kids could go with Dad to get Nanna, but I was going to stay home and catch Santa. Then I could prove once and for all whether Santa was real or not.
The only problem was—I met with resistance from both parents on the issue.
“No, you are not going to stay home. You are going with Dad to get Nanna like always.”
“I’m old enough to stay home, now.” Being the firstborn had its privileges.
“Not this time, young lady. Now go get in the car.” This from Dad.
Firstborns are known for stubbornness. I figuratively dug in my heels and literally crossed my arms as I insisted that I should stay home. “I want to see Santa Claus.”
Sighs from both parents.
“If you don’t get your coat on now, I am going to carry you to the car.” Dad held out my coat. I wanted to continue the battle, but by now my sisters were restless and I could see the tolerance melting away on my parents’ faces. Reluctantly I slid my arms into my coat with a pout on my face so they would know that I wasn’t just giving up.
A last longing look at the fireplace (isn’t that where Santa comes into the house? That’s certainly where he left the big presents) and we were off to get Nanna. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Nanna to come. I loved Nanna and wanted her a lot. It was Christmas Eve, after all.
When we returned, of course Santa had been there in our absence. In the festivities that followed, I put down my weapons. But I never forgot.
The Honest Truth
I see this same struggle going on in families now. I have heard parents ask their friends how to tell their children that Santa is not real. I’ve heard children discussing the issue over and over.
Perhaps if we, as grown-ups, weave in Santa legends with the glitz and party celebrations of Christmas, and tell our children the real honest Truth of Christmas.
Jesus came to Earth as a Baby to save us from our sins. Emmanuel. God With Us. And this is the bottom-line why we celebrate Christmas. Every year. To remind us of the One who loves us above all things.
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