The Talk

Walking home from the grocery store, Diva Girl began The Conversation. The one I've been dreading, hoping the subject wouldn't rear its ugly head, yet certain that sooner or later, we were going to have to talk about It. It's a hot topic of conversation among her friends right now, with many of them eager to earn playground cred by sharing all the awful truth with their less informed peers. Fortunately, Sabrina and I have a pretty open relationship and she's still comfortable coming to me with her questions rather than just taking the word of a bunch of third grade experts. Still, this wasn't a conversation I wanted to have. She's not even 8 years old yet! We're just not ready.

"Jesse says that there's no such thing as Santa Claus." She informs me. Balancing along the curb, she doesn't seem to be particularly interested in my reply, but I know it's just an act. It's not the first time we've encountered an unbeliever, but the rising number of kids who are too cool for Claus has Sabrina thinking about the whole thing a little more critically than she did last year.

My palms begin to sweat a bit, and I try hard to remain nonchalant. "Really?"

"Yeah. So I'm gojng to ask Santa for proof to show Jesse that he is real."

I admire her ingenuity, and am relieved to be spared the Big Question, but I don't think I can let this go. "Well, Santa doesn't really do proof, Bree. You either believe in him, or you don't."

"But, if I have proof, Jesse will have to believe in him!"

"Santa doesn't want people to believe because he proved it to them; he wants them to believe because they do. That's what makes it magic." And nothing is quite so magical as a child's wholehearted, uncomplicated belief in Santa Claus. The shining look of wonder when faced with the "magical" presents under the tree the first Christmas that she actually understood the whole Santa process, the intense concentration that goes into writing the letter, her incredible excitement the year Santa "forgot" his jinglebells, and the reverent care she took of them before leaving them beside the milk and cookies on Christmas Eve, these are all memories I treasure, and experiences I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

"Well I believe!" She stoutly declares, as though daring anyone to challenge her on the subject. I relax and continue to push the shopping cart, my attention diverted from the dicey talk of truth and reality by the Shaolin Toddler's excitement over the decorations she sees shining on the neighbourhood houses. So I'm not really prepared when she hits me with the bullet I thought I'd so easily dodged, "Do you believe in Santa Claus, Mama?"

I answer without thinking. In fact, I don't even realize what I'm saying until the words are out of my mouth, too late to take back. Thinking about them, though, I know that I wouldn't even if I could. It's an important question, and one that deserves an answer worthy of the trust she's shown in me by asking it.

I stop for a minute, and think about how much more Christmas means to me now that I can share it with her. About how much I love finding the perfect thing for her; she's always amazed by how well Santa knows her, that even though he rarely sticks her list, she always gets exactly the right thing--something she didn't even know she wanted, and yet, once it appears, she knows she could never have lived without. I think about my own thrumming excitement on Christmas Eve as I carefully arrange the presents under the tree, gleefully stuff the stockings full of goodies, and choke down one of the Pillsbury Cookies I don't actually like, yet have somehow become part of our Christmas tradition. Mostly I think about how much more magical Christmas is, now that I share the season with The Ladies and Saint Nick. Then I repeat my answer, just for emphasis:

"Absolutely I believe in Santa Claus."

Comments

Great post. We've been dodging around the same conversation, although the Bee hasn't come out and asked me about it. She's mostly been recounting to me the tales of her arguing with other kids in her class about Santa. I love it!

I remember the Santa Claus talk with my parents. It was right after I read an article in the Ladies Home Journal about how evil it was of parents to lie to their kids about Santa. I was devastated.
Then, my mom told me she believed in Santa because he represents the spirit of giving. She said she's not sure if he has a white beard or sleigh, but knows that by "playing Santa" we're making Santa real.
She also recounted the many Christmases when my dad was without a job and she didn't know how she was going to make Christmas happen. And then, somehow it did, either through the help of neighbors, church members, relatives, or people unknown to her. Santa manifest himself to our family with an abundance of gifts.
So is Santa real? At 29, I'd say he is, maybe just not in the way we traditionally think of him.