*I’ll probably never forget the year I was told that there was no Santa Claus. Well, actually it was the year that my mother told me that she didn’t believe in him. If it’s not too late for you and yours, I have a great way to avoid “the conversation” with your kids — it worked for me and mine.
I’d suspected that something wasn’t as it appeared for a few years, from the day I discovered a brand new 2XL robot tucked away in my parent’s closet. (Anybody else have one? It was a great interactive, educational toy that was kinda our generation’s iPad — except it was more of a glorified, tricked out 8-track player.).
When I found the same robot among the toys that Santa had left me a few weeks later, I pretended to be thrilled while masking just a trace of sadness. One of the things that I’d come to believe in didn’t appear to be real.
A couple of years later, I guess my mother had grown weary with the Christmas ruse, so she sat me and my younger sisters down and gave the three of us the skinny on the fat dude — or, at least, her take on him. I just nodded politely and uttered a diminished “ok.” My baby sister, who was The Material Girl LONG before pop icon Madonna claimed the title, had a single, simple question for Mother: “Will I still get toys for Christmas?” she implored.
Having assured Susan that she would be receiving gifts and that, yes, and all would be right in The Material Girl’s world, Mother turned to my other sister, Karen, whose beautiful brown eyes had begun to well up. Mother asked “What are you thinking, honey?”
“Are you going to tell me there’s no Easter Bunny either?” Karen sobbed, as tears began to stream down her little face.