The Truth About Christmas

I was driving home from shopping the other day with Elliot in the back seat, when he suddenly asked, “You know Christmas Mum?” I replied “Yes Love, I do know Christmas,” intrigued as to what his next thought might be. “Well I’ve been thinking, and I find it hard to believe that Father Christmas could deliver presents to all the children around the world in just one night.” This is it I thought. He’s going to pop the question. This phenomenal yet unquestioned ‘truth’ he had been receiving and believing all his life had been pricked with realism and doubt. 

Before responding, I looked at him in the rear view mirror to try and judge the depth of his thought position, and level of intensity on his face. I wasn’t eager to dispel the Christmas myth so casually and without warning. I still wanted him to believe in magic. He’s far too young to get real.

I held a theory for a long time that a child’s exposure to the truth about Christmas plays a significant part in their growing up. I assumed it would dilute the monopoly we have as parents to ‘feed’ information to our children, and have them digest it unconditionally. Which lets be honest, is a fabulous position to be in because it gives us great leverage in trying to solicit good behaviour from them. But once they find out we’ve lied about Father Christmas, what else might we be lying about? Naturally as we all do, I’ve always understood that we propagate the Christmas myth because it brings great delight and pleasure to our children, hence it’s justifiable as a “kind-hearted and harmless lie.” Nevertheless, it’s still a lie, and we teach our children not to lie. I’ve always felt a little uneasy about the topic because no matter which way you look at it, it does feel a tad hypocritical. 

Anyway, back to the look on Elliot’s face as he waited for my feedback. I could see there wasn’t a lot of deep thought processing going on. He was rummaging into a packet of salt and vinegar chips, trying to get the last morsels out from the bottom of the bag. So rather than go for the more carefully constructed and delicate response I’d mustered up in the few seconds I had to prepare, I just leapt in and said “You’re right, good thinking.” Calmly receptive to my confirmation whilst still digging for chips, he added “So it’s you then?” There went any chance I had at prolonging the inevitable into some drawn out explanation of Santa having elves as helpers. “Yes, it’s me,” I said. “That’s cool,” he responded and then promptly changed the subject as quickly as this one had come up, and asked me what we were having for dinner that night.   

I said I held a theory about a child’s innocence being quashed by the Santa exposure, because I no longer hold it. I still think there’s sometimes a fine line in distinguishing the difference between a ‘good’ lie and an otherwise one, but I now think children are wise enough to know the difference, and we need to give them credit for that. It was silly of me to anticipate one incident of revelation would brand me as an untrustworthy Mother. I doubt very much my son even put much more thought into it after our discussion, other than perhaps to make sure his Christmas gift list was communicated directly to me in future rather than via a secret letter to Santa in the North Pole. 

I think on reflection the biggest issue for me around the subject is that I don’t want my children to lose faith in magic, ever. Just because Father Christmas isn’t real, it doesn’t mean magic isn’t. But that’s not something I can discuss with him in a casual conversation coming home in the car from shopping. That’s something I will need to keep discussing with him for as long as I live. Because magic is all around us everyday. It’s not a myth, it’s real. The very fact we are alive is proof of that. 

For now at least, I know Elliot’s belief in the fantastical is still alive and well, because just today he picked a fully seeded dandelion head from our garden. He closed his eyes and made a wish, which I could tell was intense and passionately desired from the flickering of his eyelids and the burrowing of his forehead. He then blew it with all his heart into the wind. “What did you wish for?” I asked. “Can’t tell you,” he said, “otherwise it won’t come true.” I’m pretty sure I know what he wished for; I’m pretty sure he wished he’d get a pillow pet for Christmas. In which case, I'm very glad I'll be able to make his wish come true. Bless. He picked a dandelion for me and asked me to make a wish too. If you’re anything like me, you’ll know what I wished for... it wasn't something anyone could buy me.

Mum's the Word:

The unconditional belief our children will always have in us far outweighs their loss of belief in Father Christmas.