Dish readers have been sharing their memories of discovering that Santa isn’t real. Then there’s this famous dark tale:
A reader shares a real-life tragedy:
I remember clearly when I lost faith in Santa. My sister, at just over a year old, was diagnosed with a catastrophic illness. The presents before her birth had been many, more than the large litter of children to which I was born could aspire – new bicycles and erector sets, BB guns and Pong. The year after her diagnosis there were only a scant few gifts – three Hardy Boys books and a little robot FM radio. Why would Santa abandon my family when it needed a little joy the most? Logic answered that question. My parents had been in the hospital with her, not able to work, so time and money to shop were scarce.
There were no complaints from my siblings or me. We just wanted our family’s only little girl to be well. But it was not long after that Jesus went the way of Santa. I figured if there weren’t a jolly old man at the North Pole who brought requested gifts, there surely wasn’t a Jesus in heaven answering prayers. He certainly hadn’t answered ours.
Another reader:
As a child, my family did the whole Santa thing. But later in my youth my father told me that when he was a child, his father had adamantly refused to promote the Santa story. My grandfather’s reasoning was that if his children found out that Santa was a myth, then they might extrapolate that Jesus was also a myth. Uh. Hmm. Yup.
Another:
I stopped believing in Santa Claus the way that every good atheist should:
I looked up Santa in the encyclopedia when I was six.
Another fact-based reader:
I had a resurgence of faith at 6 when the local news reported NORAD’s tracking of Santa. Because the news! And radar! It had to be true.
A parent is befuddled:
I find myself wondering if my almost 12 year old still believes or is faking it. He has never asked about Santa‘s authenticity and still talks about him as if he is real. He even wants one of those damn Elf on the Shelf things. Maybe just to see what I would do with it every day? It is quite disconcerting. I hope he knows Santa isn’t real but I don’t want to be the one to break the news if he does not.
Strangest of all, he is so into science he is quite agnostic when it comes to God, often saying, “IF there is a God…”. I don’t know what to make of it.
A few more readers flip the script:
Having been raised in a Jehovah’s Witness household, we never believed in Santa. In fact, my younger brother got into trouble in very early grade school for for letting the cat out of that particular bag with classmates. Bah humbug!
BTW, I’m playing Santa in full regalia at our company’s holiday party tomorrow night.
The other:
I was actually raised an a-Santa-ist: Jesus was the reason for the season in my house. Thus, there wasn’t a moment when I lost that particular faith – rather, I was the kid who had to have a parent-teacher conference because I told all the other kindergartners that there was no Santa. I’m congenitally incapable of keeping my mouth shut while falsehoods are uttered in my presence, and tact is not my forte, but let’s be honest: it’s the OTHER parents who should have been called in. I got chastised for telling the truth, and they were indignant at a five-year-old who called the lies they told their children.
Back to an atheist:
I was six, and my brother was eight. We were sleeping in my mother’s old bedroom at my grandparents house. I remember rolling over in my bed and whispering to my brother, “How long do you think until Santa gets here?” My brother, who was probably tired just said, “Don’t be silly, there’s no such thing as Santa,” and he rolled over in his bed and went right to sleep.
It was quite a shock for all of about 15 seconds, and then I thought about it for a bit and realized, of course there was no such thing as Santa. It was a preposterous idea. And so I went to sleep myself and never gave it much of a second thought.
But I’ve often wondered if I would have been more upset if I were brought up with the idea of faith somewhere else? We were brought up amongst athiests and agnostics. There was no expectation that we believe in God or Jesus or the Flying Spagetti Monster, so the idea of not believing in a magic elf/man who traversed the globe giving out random presents wasn’t really a tough idea to swallow. I already didn’t believe in a supreme being. And it’s not like I wouldn’t get presents; I knew they were down there. I’m shocked when I find out someone was scared from the reveal. Of course it was fiction! How could anyone think otherwise?
Now that I am the mother of five year olds, we keep the fiction alive for them, but they have begun to question. I won’t lie to them about it. I figure I have another year and if they ask me directly, I will tell them what my brother told me, there is no such thing as Santa, but it is a fun story.
Will Wilkinson is also parenting along those lines. A Christian responds to that post:
I am a mainline Protestant preacher, married with a 7-year-old son and a 5-year-old daughter. We debated about teaching the kids the Santa myth, but in the end decided that since it is such a part of popular culture, we would go along for as long as they wanted. It is all just fun, right?
Their mother, though, decided that she would never directly lie to them about Santa – or anything for that matter. So while she does fill stockings and has distinct wrapping paper for some presents that do not come from anyone else, she won’t say “This is from Santa.” When the kids ask questions about it, she says “What do you think?”
As we were decorating the tree this year, the boy announced in a soft voice “I don’t think Santa is r-e-a-l.” His mother and I both looked at each other in panic and pride. We didn’t think we would reach this point yet, but we are pleased at his reasoning skills, and his apparent understanding of the power of myth. We both praised him for spelling out the key word, and in doing so showing consideration for his sister (though another month of public school Kindergarten and she will be able to decode that word.) His mother asked “what do you think?” Then we handed him another ornament to put on the tree and left it alone.
A few days later I took the kids to a public showing of “Arthur Christmas,” in which Santa is a family title that is passed on through generations. On the way home the girl started asking questions. She was concerned, because, she reasoned, “if Santa can grow old, then maybe Santa can die!” I tried her mother’s solution: “What do you think?” Her bother quickly responded “Santa IS dead!” That landed with a thud.
I started to think of how I could save this without lying. I got ready for the tears. Then my son continued: “He is dead in that he isn’t like you or me. I think he died a long time ago, but now he can live forever and do things that normal people can’t do. That’s how he can be in so many places at once, and get presents all around the world in one night!”
I am glad that my boy has worked things out in a way that allows him to believe. I am delighted that he cares enough for his sister to speak the truth as he knows it to her in a compassionate way. I am glad that he is obviously hearing, comprehending, and applying the concept of the incarnation and resurrection. I am also very concerned about his conflation of Santa and Jesus.
So yes, in some way the myth of Santa may allow for children to later comprehend the mythic nature of Christian truth. And my kids will sort it out in time. But I don’t think that finding out that Santa isn’t R-E-A-L will keep him from discovering that Jesus IS. In fact, I think that he is learning the difference by singing Christmas carols to shut-ins, serving meals to the hungry, and working to keep up the homeless shelter we support. That isn’t Santa at work in his heart. Yes, I am a preacher, whose kids still believe, in their own way, in Santa Claus. But I am confident that they will be able to understand, eventually, that at Christmas Santa=presents and Emmanuel=presence.
As always, many thanks to you and your staff for the lively and wide-ranging discussions. I often bring you all into the pulpit with me!
The Dish 