As my family prepares to navigate a new chapter, we find ourselves at a crossroads: the realization that Santa is, in fact, a fictional character and that all the presents under the tree are sourced from local shops or delivered in unmarked boxes from online retailers boasting incredible sales. No elves, no magic—just the reality of holiday shopping.
Our eldest daughter, who has cherished the figure of Santa Claus and the enchantment of Christmas more than any child I know, is now questioning the existence of the jolly man in red. It’s intriguing that a sixth-grader has held onto her belief for so long, but it seems the moment has finally arrived.
I had been dreading this day for years, steeling myself for what I thought might be the last Christmas with Santa. Yet, somehow, every year, there was always another chance to send letters to the North Pole, leave out cookies, and set out carrots for the underappreciated reindeer.
However, this year marks the end of an era—our firstborn’s final Christmas with Santa. Surprisingly, I feel a sense of acceptance about it. I adore everything about Christmas, from the magic of the season to the joy of Santa. After years of nurturing the legend, I’m ready to transition to a holiday without Santa. I find peace in the idea of Christmases that don’t include him.
Even though my youngest still believes, once one child starts to waver, the others often follow suit. Santa was a significant part of my own happy childhood, and I grew up without any negative consequences from discovering the truth about him. So it was only natural for my partner and I to carry on the Santa tradition with our children.
But we didn’t just embrace it; we owned it. On Christmas Eve, we’d nibble on cookies left for Santa, of course, but I took my commitment to the next level. I would sneak outside to take bites out of raw carrots, trying to mimic a reindeer’s chewing, all while fighting my gag reflex. I prefer my carrots sautéed, so this was quite the challenge!
Another clever tactic I used to reinforce the Santa myth was to always have Play-Doh under the tree. It might sound ordinary, but I absolutely loathe Play-Doh—the texture, the smell, and the way it seems to embed itself into our carpet. Yet, nearly every December 25th, there was a colorful box of it waiting for the kids. My daughter would confidently declare, “Santa must be real because Daddy would never buy us Play-Doh!” My clever schemes worked like a charm, but those days are now coming to a close.
Yes, it’s a lie, the only one I’ve ever told my daughters (well, okay, there’s the Tooth Fairy, too—oh, the little white lies parents share!). But it’s a lie that has gifted my children with magical memories far beyond what my partner and I could have created alone.
When the day comes that she no longer believes, I’ll wrap up a single yellow tub of Play-Doh, complete with a shiny bow. I can already picture the moment—us sharing a knowing smile, a tear, and a hug that encompasses all the love and joy of the past 11½ years of Christmas magic.
If you think I didn’t shed a tear writing that, you’re mistaken.
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Summary
As my family transitions into a world where Santa is merely a story, I reflect on the joy he brought and the memories we’ve created. Embracing the Santa myth has been a cherished part of our lives, but it’s time to move forward without him.