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Why We Shouldn’t Feel Bad About the Santa Tale
If you think there’s a way to keep the Santa story alive without feeling like a huge liar, it’s time to face the truth: you can’t. Embracing this holiday tradition means accepting a few fibs along the way – and that’s perfectly fine. I know of no one who resents their parents for the Santa story. So, let go of that worry. Seriously, it’s not something our parents ever stressed over.
When I was old enough to understand, my folks told me about Santa Claus. It was a tale I took at face value because the idea of receiving gifts from a jolly man once a year was enough to drown out the oddness of a portly, bearded stranger sneaking into our home. I don’t recall my parents weaving an elaborate narrative throughout the season; instead, it was simply this: a man from the North Pole with a crew of little helpers who would bring gifts if I was good. I remember being directed to the beloved claymation special, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” That was sufficient for me. I didn’t question the holiday magic or Santa’s existence until one memorable night in the early 80s.
It was Christmas Eve, and I was six years old. I lay in bed, oscillating between pretending to sleep and jumping up to the window, convinced I could see Rudolph’s glowing nose. I heard my parents moving around downstairs and tiptoed out to investigate. Our house had the classic two-story layout popular in California during the 80s, with a grand vaulted ceiling and a staircase that led to a landing overlooking the living room. I peeked over the banister and caught a glimpse of my parents discussing something I couldn’t quite hear. My mom was placing a stuffed bear under the tree.
In that moment, I thought, “How sweet,” before returning to bed.
The next morning, I woke to find the tree illuminated, Santa’s cookies devoured, and my mom eagerly presenting me with my gift from Santa – a stuffed bear. I can’t quite recall my exact feelings, but I’m sure they involved thoughts of betrayal. “My parents are dishonest!” I probably thought. I sat there, feeling deflated, staring at the wall. Santa wasn’t real, my parents had tricked me, and that bear was a disappointing gift.
While I felt let down, I didn’t keep a running tally of all the lies involved in the Santa saga, mostly because there weren’t that many. I accepted the Santa tale and the few stories my parents shared about how I could meet him at the mall. Seeing Santa at the mall didn’t confuse my young mind; I simply accepted that the Oakridge Mall Santa was the only one that mattered. I never questioned how Santa could visit every mall or what that meant for his credibility.
Now, as a parent myself, I’m already telling my child a few tall tales, and I’m completely okay with it. If the worst thing they ever need to address in therapy is a Santa “betrayal,” I’ll chalk that up as a parenting victory. To be honest, I lie often because I feel I’ve earned that privilege after all the care and hard work I put into raising my kids. Hopefully, my child won’t hold it against me when they discover the proverbial bear in my hands.
For more on navigating parenthood and celebrating the holidays, check out our other blog posts at this link.
In summary, while many parents worry about the Santa story and its potential impact on their children, it’s important to remember that the joy and magic it brings far outweighs any feelings of guilt. The holiday spirit thrives on imagination, and a little imagination can go a long way in childhood memories.