everything that's on my mind
(as if there's not already enough people doing this)Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Answering the question
One of the things I've learned in the last six-and-a-half years is that your children can ask really hard questions. Sometimes that's because they are questions you don't know the answer to. Sometimes it's because it's difficult to explain the answer to them in a way that they will understand. Then there are questions like the one I was asked last night.
It was one of those times where you have to answer a question that you just don't want to answer. I was sitting there merrily watching Miracle On 34th Street and my 6-year-old daughter was busy with her crayons and a coloring book. She was only halfway paying attention to the movie, but it was just enough to ask the question I didn't want to hear. As best as I can recall, she'd never asked this question before, at least not to me.
The movie, of course, is about a man who presents himself as the one-and-only Santa Claus and those around him trying to determine what they believe about him. My daughter asked a few questions from time to time: "Is that Santa Claus?", "Is he really Santa?", "Why isn't he wearing his [Santa] clothes?" and things of that nature. I guess I should've seen it coming, and maybe I did, but was hoping that it wouldn't.
There are several occasions where the characters are discussing the existence of Santa Claus and whether this man calling himself Kris Kringle is actually him. During one of those scenes, may daughter finally did it, looking over at me and dropping this baby on me:
Technically, there is (or was) a Saint Nicolas. So if I answered yes, I would sort of be telling the truth. The man from which the Santa Claus legend grew was, in fact, real. However, the Santa Claus legend we know today is just that - a legend. There's not really a man flying all over the world in a sleigh led by reindeer who leaves presents at everyone's home. So to answer the question she was asking, the answer had to be no.
So, I paused briefly, and then I reluctantly nodded my head. "There is??" she asked excitedly, trying to hold back a smile until I confirmed it again. I nodded again. She then went back to coloring, grinning from ear to ear. I went back to watching the movie but not feeling very good about telling her something that wasn't true.
I grew up believing in Santa Claus. And the Easter Bunny. And the Tooth Fairy (who, incidentally, had just paid a visit to our house two nights earlier.) My parents let me believe. Perhaps I asked them the same question at some point, and maybe they answered the same way I did. However, Christmas with Santa Claus was a lot of fun - anxiously waiting for the day to arrive, finding it impossible to sleep on Christmas Eve, and then discovering the gifts under (or at least near) the tree the next morning. I finally discovered the truth one year when, because I suspected I knew the truth already, I crept out of my bedroom, down the hallway, and into the kitchen - just enough so that I could see into our living room - where I saw my mother stuffing our stockings. Aaaa-haaaa!!
It was not really a big disappointment by that time. I didn't flee the house, running out into the winter's night lamenting the fact that there was no Santa Claus, or jump out and angrily expose my parent's deception, or think less of them for "lying" to me all of those years. I just went back to bed, now knowing for certain the truth about Santa. I think it was actually a bigger disappointment for my oldest sister, who tried to convince me otherwise. I am the youngest of four, so I was the last one to stop believing. When I stopped, the Santa charade was over at our house (until we started having our own kids.) She still enjoyed it, I suppose, and wanted it to continue. But I would have none of it.
In the end, I guess I look at it this way: I grew up believing these things, and I turned out pretty normal (or at least that's my opinion - others may dispute that.) I'm intelligent enough to realize this was a fun part of being a child and I don't have any "emotional scars" because of it. I trust that my children will be smart enough to understand this as well, and someday will be up late on Christmas Eve arranging presents around the tree for their own children, eating the cookies and milk along the way.
The thing that I'm trying to do for my kids, which I did not hear about as often while growing up, is to share more about the real Christmas story, the one we find in Matthew and Luke. There are some things we must outgrow - Santa being one of them. Jesus, on the other hand, will always be a part of Christmas.
It was one of those times where you have to answer a question that you just don't want to answer. I was sitting there merrily watching Miracle On 34th Street and my 6-year-old daughter was busy with her crayons and a coloring book. She was only halfway paying attention to the movie, but it was just enough to ask the question I didn't want to hear. As best as I can recall, she'd never asked this question before, at least not to me.
The movie, of course, is about a man who presents himself as the one-and-only Santa Claus and those around him trying to determine what they believe about him. My daughter asked a few questions from time to time: "Is that Santa Claus?", "Is he really Santa?", "Why isn't he wearing his [Santa] clothes?" and things of that nature. I guess I should've seen it coming, and maybe I did, but was hoping that it wouldn't.
There are several occasions where the characters are discussing the existence of Santa Claus and whether this man calling himself Kris Kringle is actually him. During one of those scenes, may daughter finally did it, looking over at me and dropping this baby on me:
"Daddy, is there really a Santa Claus?"Have you seen those commercials where people do something stupid and the voice-over says, "Ever want to just get away?" or something like that? Well, I hadn't done anything stupid, but I did want to get away. I was hoping for a reprieve - the phone would ring, the electricity would go out, Jesus would come back - something, anything, to avoid answering the question.
Technically, there is (or was) a Saint Nicolas. So if I answered yes, I would sort of be telling the truth. The man from which the Santa Claus legend grew was, in fact, real. However, the Santa Claus legend we know today is just that - a legend. There's not really a man flying all over the world in a sleigh led by reindeer who leaves presents at everyone's home. So to answer the question she was asking, the answer had to be no.
So, I paused briefly, and then I reluctantly nodded my head. "There is??" she asked excitedly, trying to hold back a smile until I confirmed it again. I nodded again. She then went back to coloring, grinning from ear to ear. I went back to watching the movie but not feeling very good about telling her something that wasn't true.
I grew up believing in Santa Claus. And the Easter Bunny. And the Tooth Fairy (who, incidentally, had just paid a visit to our house two nights earlier.) My parents let me believe. Perhaps I asked them the same question at some point, and maybe they answered the same way I did. However, Christmas with Santa Claus was a lot of fun - anxiously waiting for the day to arrive, finding it impossible to sleep on Christmas Eve, and then discovering the gifts under (or at least near) the tree the next morning. I finally discovered the truth one year when, because I suspected I knew the truth already, I crept out of my bedroom, down the hallway, and into the kitchen - just enough so that I could see into our living room - where I saw my mother stuffing our stockings. Aaaa-haaaa!!
It was not really a big disappointment by that time. I didn't flee the house, running out into the winter's night lamenting the fact that there was no Santa Claus, or jump out and angrily expose my parent's deception, or think less of them for "lying" to me all of those years. I just went back to bed, now knowing for certain the truth about Santa. I think it was actually a bigger disappointment for my oldest sister, who tried to convince me otherwise. I am the youngest of four, so I was the last one to stop believing. When I stopped, the Santa charade was over at our house (until we started having our own kids.) She still enjoyed it, I suppose, and wanted it to continue. But I would have none of it.
In the end, I guess I look at it this way: I grew up believing these things, and I turned out pretty normal (or at least that's my opinion - others may dispute that.) I'm intelligent enough to realize this was a fun part of being a child and I don't have any "emotional scars" because of it. I trust that my children will be smart enough to understand this as well, and someday will be up late on Christmas Eve arranging presents around the tree for their own children, eating the cookies and milk along the way.
The thing that I'm trying to do for my kids, which I did not hear about as often while growing up, is to share more about the real Christmas story, the one we find in Matthew and Luke. There are some things we must outgrow - Santa being one of them. Jesus, on the other hand, will always be a part of Christmas.
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