Santa: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

When did you stop believing in Santa Claus? Do you remember the exact moment, an event that happened to change your belief, or was it more of a gradual realization? As the holidays approach, I wonder if this is the year my eight-year-old learns the truth about Santa. Will he discover the inevitable or can we keep the magic going for one more year?

Last year was a close call. We always spend Saturday and Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend transforming our house into a Christmas wonderland. Candles, garlands and figurines grace our mantle, and ornaments we have collected for the last 10 years fill the tree.

As we hung ornaments, Ethan casually asked, “About Santa, Mom.” I looked at him and knew he was nervous about his next question. He squinted his eyes at me and said, “How does Santa land his sleigh on our roof? Wouldn’t a big sleigh break the roof?”

“Well, it’s a magic sleigh. He can make it as big or little as he needs it to be.”

“What about the reindeer? I guess they are magic too?” he asked in a combination of hope and skepticism.

Later that day, I suggested he start on his list for Santa and he hit me with another question. “If I’m writing this list for Santa, how come I always get gifts off this list from Grandpa and Grandma?”

All day I could see the wheels turning in his mind yet he refused to ask me the big question, “Is Santa real?”

I had a quick and rude awakening about Santa Claus at age seven. Excited and eager on Christmas morning, I awoke at six and ran to the living room only to find it empty. Nothing in the stockings and nothing new under the tree with Santa’s name on it. In my horror, I burst into my parents’ bedroom which under normal circumstances was forbidden, but this was an emergency.

I grabbed my mother’s shoulder and shook hard. “Santa forgot us! He forgot us!” I cried. My mother jumped up in emergency mode, but then realized what I was saying and her head hung down. She told me calmly to go to my room and wait for 20 minutes. I was confused and upset but did what I was told.

Through the door I heard my mother pulling things out of her closet and my father going in and out of the garage. In the next 20 minutes, Santa visited us and my parents acted like nothing happened.

With our son, I wanted him to have the mystery and excitement as long as possible. In explaining this to my friend, she laughed, “Trust me, Ethan already knows. It’s classic “don’t ask, don’t tell. What’s the upside is for him if he admits that Santa isn’t real? In his mind, there’s a chance that the presents and stocking stuffers from Santa would stop. He’s smart enough not to risk it.”

I mulled this over on the car ride home and thought that in this particular case, maybe “don’t ask, don’t tell” isn’t such a bad thing.