Yes, Virginia... Aw F*ck It

Today as I looked lovingly upon my perfectly toasted, shmeared bagle adorned with onion, tomato and capers I had a eureka moment: "I am going to take a picture of this gorgeous bagle and blog about it!" Ladies and gentlemen, that is hitting bottom. Nobody cares what you had for brunch. Luckily, my sister called with melancholy news.

She and my brother-in-law decided to tell one of my nephews the truth about Santa tonight. Gut-wrenching was the word she chose to describe it. All of them cried and drowned their sorrows in some consolatory ice cream. The problem was that my nephew was getting a little too old - most of his peer group is way past it- and my sister and BIL didn't want him to be teased at school should the subject come up. My nephew is extremely smart and a relatively sophisticated kid in all other ways but he still really believed in Santa. Partly because he is so logical and concluded that there is no way that his parents would buy him the incredibly excellent stuff that Santa gives him - most of which is on their "highly disapprove" list. That and the vast, worldwide conspiracy to make unwitting christian children believe in Santa pretty much kept him in the dark until now. (Wait until he finds out about Jesus. Ha! kidding there, JC, he, he - we're good, right?  Actually, the ironic thing is that he is pretty skeptical about God. Finds the whole concept a little flimsy. Too bad God didn't give him his Gameboy Advance). In the end though, I think it's a good way to find out the truth. From the lying bastards, I mean, loving parents who break the news gently and let you cry on their shoulder to express what is a pretty terrible loss to a kid.

I found out about Santa in much more traumatic fashion. One Christmas eve, while snuggled in my bed with the sugarplums, a noise awoke me. I sprang to my window and threw up the sash... no, wait, sorry. I silently started down the stairs, part of me wondering why Stevie Wonder was blasting out of the stereo, but still with every fiber of my being humming with the excitement of possibly catching St. Nick in the act. When I reached the landing I peeked down into the livingroom. And what to my wondering eyes should appear? My mother stuffing candy canes into my stocking with a chocolate-chip cookie sticking out of her mouth. Confusion and indignation flooded my senses and I shouted "Mom! What are you doing? Those cookies are for Santa!" The look on my mother's face at that moment is one of the most priceless memories that I have. Trapped! Trapped like a trap in a trap, as Dorothy Parker once said. A second later my dad came in the front door pushing a new bike  and froze the instant he saw me, as if he could actually make himself invisible by standing completely still and wishing it. The jig was up. They did their best to console me but everything was different. I never trusted them again. (Ha! I kid. That didn't happen until they told me they were getting divorced). If you would like, *sniff*, you can use this place to share your story. If you're lucky enough to be part of a tradition that doesn't do Santa feel free to point and laugh.

Comments

[Feral Mom]

I was the kid who believed, even AFTER the school bully tattled to our entire 2nd grade class. In fact, I believed until I was 11. The conversation with my parents went something like:

Me: You know how the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy are you?
Parents: Um, yeah?
Me: Is Santa, um, you?
Parents: (long pause) Yeah.

But as you can see from my blog, I am quite well-adjusted. I guess the moral is...well, I don't know what the moral is. Santa is a hard issue.

[5penny]

Hmmm, I had those crazy religious meet secular parents who signed the gifts
"Love, Santa", "Love, Frosty", "love, Rudolph", "Love, Baby Jesus". It was pretty hard to believe in anything when the freaking baby jesus was dropping by.

(I guess, had I read your archives before commenting, I would know where you live. I was just high on hope!)

[Mama Snee]

I went through a period of crazy unexplainable nosebleeds when I was about 6 or so. I woke up with one, and came out into the living room to the same type of scene you described. My parents flipped it and made a big deal about how "Santa lives in all of us," and more importantly, "Let's keep this between us so your little brother doesn't get his three-year-old heart smooshed." Santa's non-existence was my first inside joke. On a sweet little kid.

[Carrie]

We actually broke the news about Santa to my stepdaughter during a conversation about Jesus in which she insisted that Jesus was real - JUST LIKE SANTA. You inspired me this morning. Great post. :)

[knisk]

Yeah, its a little mind bending to imagine trying to talk to a child about God after detonating their blissfull faith in Santa.

"Well see here kid, Santa, the Christmas Tree, the reindeer, the presents, all go back to some old pagan stuff or another that I am not too keen on. Or was that Halloween?... Anyway that is all bullshit, sorry, hope you dug your gifts and had fun with the illusion.

Now God is a different matter, get your shoes on, we are going to be late for church.

[kara]

we had our first over-riley's-head-santa-exchange last night which casey thoroughly enjoyed. this is actually going to be fun to have him with us on the dark side... they were writing their christmas list for papa & sue and i told them they should write their letters to santa, too, while they were at it. casey looked at me (the look alone was priceless) and said, "can't 'santa' just read this one?"

[supa]

I was totally in your nephew's boat. "No way in HELL my folks would lay out that kind of cash on presents for us -- ergo, Santa must be real." I think I was in denial until 4th or 5th grade, when I saw a story on the evening news about Santa and how to keep the spirit alive for one's children. Bam, the jig was up.

[Noelle]

I actually believed in Santa until the 6th grade in part because I wanted to, in part because I was afraid not to, and in part because I thought I was setting a good example for my little sister. Then, in class one day, my awful, terrible, mean as hell teacher told us that she was shocked that her 3rd grade son still believed in Santa. My world was crushed. But at least it was done by a teacher that I hated rather than my parents, so that lightened the blow a little. Plus, I still got gifts in the stocking. Now, the hard part is telling them I don't believe in Jesus... I hope I still get presents!