The Santa Claus Conundrum - Truth vs. Imagination - A Parenting Paradox

I have never lied to my sons.

Actually, I’m lying, I lie to my sons all of the time, and I presume that I will lie to my daughter when she is old enough to understand what I am saying.  It’s the Santa Claus conundrum that is causing me this angst.  Here is the reason why:

My number one goal as a parent has always been three-fold:

1. Create an environment for my children to grow up where they feel relatively safe.
2. Provide opportunities for my children to build their self-esteem.
3. Build a relationship with each of my children based on trust.

As you can see, it is number three that is challenged by the Santa Claus tradition.  In every other case I can think of, I tell my children the truth, and when they ask me difficult questions, I usually do not beat around the bush with the answer; however, I will try and soften the blow with a euphemism or two when one is available.  (There is the other death/religion thing that has come up several times already, but I just take the safe route with heaven and God and spirits and all of those chestnuts.  Perhaps that is another topic for another day.  Unlike Santa Claus, if there is a “final disappointment,” [see “Is That All There Is” by Peggy Lee] they won’t know it. )

…It is amazing how difficult this actually is for me.  I am not sure why I have such a hard time lying to them (other than that I tend to over-analyze some things,) but I think I might be on to something.

The problem with Santa Claus is that at some point, my children, one by one, will get to an undetermined point in their young lives when they will discover that he does not exist.

There are several movies that have addressed this issue over time.  The most popular being ‘The Miracle on 34th Street.’  Of course, Hollywood being what it is, Santa Claus turns out to be real and stumbles across the one girl in New York whose mother does not want her to believe such nonsense, so that movie is no help.

There are also famous scenes in movies like this one from Shirley Temple’s ‘Bright Eyes’ where the bratty rich girl pontificates that her psychoanalyst told her that there is no Santa Claus.

So, what is a parent who values truth, logic, AND imagination to do?

I posed that question last year at a Rotary Christmas party to some people who also had children.  I was just throwing it out there for some fun, post-eggnog discussion, but everyone looked at me like I had three eyes.  One person said, “Why do you think of such things, Karl?”  Another said, “Have you ever tried just to ask them what they think?”  (I am not sure they were going with that one.)

The next day, I searched the internet and found the following article titled, ‘The Delicate Matter of the Truth of Santa.’  You can read it yourself, but the following excerpt calmed my worries a bit:

“Forcing an elaborate Santa Claus story on children serves no good purpose for child or parent,” he said. “On the other hand, following the child’s lead in fantasy play about Santa Claus is likely to do no more harm than imaginative play surrounding Elmo or Mickey Mouse. Parents can respond to direct questions honestly with answers appropriate to their children’s developmental levels.”

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Testing your children for super powers is highly recommended.

This morning I woke up, tired and crabby. It was a late night last night and getting up to my oldest son missing the bus was not the way I wanted to start my day. Unfortunately, staying in bed and not taking him to school was not a responsible option. So, I rubbed my eyes, yawned a few times, put on a pair of sweat shorts and a fancy brown button down shirt. After bumping through the family room a little bit and kicking some toys out of the way, I found my Helly Hanson’s and slid my feet in to them. The truck was warming, but putting my hands on that ice cold steering wheel wasn’t something I was looking forward too.

After having a couple of words with my son about missing the bus, I walked outside, bare-legged and sockless with a three-quarter length leather coat on and climbed in to the twenty-three degree seat and began the silent fifteen-minute round trip to the high school. The traffic was jammed and the parking lot was full, but we made it none-the-less. He opened the door to get out, and I said quietly, “Be careful and have a good day.” He nodded his head and closed the door, and I was on my way back home thinking, “It’s going to be one of those days.”

I could not have been more wrong.

Upon arriving home, I walked to the front door, with my bare ankles and knees knocking and entered the house. As I did, an enormous wave of joy greeted me at the front door. My other two sons were waiting there to greet me, half-dressed and messy-headed.

“Daddy!”

In one fell swoop, all of the irritation I was feeling was gone. Like the flip of a magic wand, I was the happiest person in the world. It was like my boys had super powers or something, but only the kind that I can see. Hugging them and kissing them only made their smiles bigger, and I could not help but laugh out loud a little. My six year old, I call him The Bones, and my seven year old, My Buddy. Bones has brown hair and big brown eyes and sits in the bottom five percent of height for his age. My Buddy is average height, has blonde hair, blue eyes and big spacious front teeth.

As a father, I am always looking for ways to return the favor to my children for the happiness they bring me, but in these tough times, it cannot always be with the latest Wii game. So I decided to test them for superpowers. It was a simple plan really. All I needed were two bowls, two spoons, some milk, and a bag of Magic Stars cereal.

After they had a few bites, I asked them as seriously as I could muster, “Are those magic stars making you magic?”

The Bones giggled at me and said, “Yes, they are turning me in to a frog.”

The Bones’s quick wit made them both carry on with laughter like only young children can do. So, I said, “Well let’s test your magic.” To test their super powers, I did not want encourage them to assess their ability to fly, so I chose simpler tasks, like lying a ruler on the table and telling them to stare at it really hard and make it move.

“Okay,” they snickered in unison, like I was the crazy daddy from Mars. They clinched their fists and crinkled their noses and raised their shoulders, but after about five seconds, I let them know that they must have canceled each other’s magical powers out. Of course, my buddy was able to move the ruler by banging on the table. Magical? I guess not. Pragmatic? Certainly.

So after some more superpower tests, like attempting to see through walls and read each other’s minds, it was time to go. (My wife could not have been happier. The super power stuff was apparently freaking her out a bit.) We put on our coats and climbed in to that twenty three degree truck again, but this time it did not feel so cold. The boys were laughing and having a good time, and I continued to relish in the bliss of fatherhood.

As they hiked their legs up the two foot stairs of the big yellow bus, I watched them sit in their seats as I always do, hoping they would look back and wave. Sometimes they do, but most of the time, they are engrossed in seeing their friends again - but not today. As the bus began to pull away, my buddy was the first to look over at me from the front seat and through the window of the bus and begin to wave. Just before the bus was out of sight, the Bones looked at me with his big glowing smile and joined his brother and me, waving goodbye to each other, until later - proving they really were superheroes, once and for all.