We had to tell our daughter
The Big Secret.
A swift catalogue of Rockwell-esque memories flashed through my head: my mom calling “Santa” when I glared at my peas; the Space Needle’s red blinking light becoming Rudolf’s nose; nestling all snug in my bed listening intently for reindeer hooves; the empty cookie plate and drained glass of nog; willfully disregarding Santa’s handwriting being exactly. the. same. as my mom’s. The list, like Santa’s, goes on and on. There’d be no Santa bribing, no hiding elves on shelves, no racing to bed on Christmas Eve, no Miracle’s on 34th Street, or 26th Street, as the case may be. No…magic.
But what price my little girl's sanity?
The Big Secret.
A swift catalogue of Rockwell-esque memories flashed through my head: my mom calling “Santa” when I glared at my peas; the Space Needle’s red blinking light becoming Rudolf’s nose; nestling all snug in my bed listening intently for reindeer hooves; the empty cookie plate and drained glass of nog; willfully disregarding Santa’s handwriting being exactly. the. same. as my mom’s. The list, like Santa’s, goes on and on. There’d be no Santa bribing, no hiding elves on shelves, no racing to bed on Christmas Eve, no Miracle’s on 34th Street, or 26th Street, as the case may be. No…magic.
But what price my little girl's sanity?
So we pulled the plug. Opened the can of cranberries. Let the cat out of the stocking. It involved this hopelessly boring video, that really did not need to be made. Who doesn't know how to dress like Santa? What rock do you live under in which you don't know what Santa looks like, but have access to YouTube?
Anyhow, now she’s in on the big hush-hush – and has been admonished to Tell No One.
But it still makes me sad. Part of childhood is wonder and discovery and adventure and believing in things we grown ups are too boring to ponder let alone be charmed by. Have we taken that from her – taken away part of her imagination? Her fantasy?
But it still makes me sad. Part of childhood is wonder and discovery and adventure and believing in things we grown ups are too boring to ponder let alone be charmed by. Have we taken that from her – taken away part of her imagination? Her fantasy?
Last year, she got one look at the Santa whose knee she was supposed to sit primly upon, and promptly applied herself to my leg like Kate Winslet on a floating door. She wailed. We cajoled. We now have a picture of her clinging to my neck while I sit on said Santa’s knee in jeans and unwashed hair with my husband looking drunk behind us all. Santa looks like he’s hoping for time and a half.
We chalked it up to being That Year with That Photo which we will someday show her fiancé as she glares at us with betrayal and vengeance. Yet here she was, a year later, my sweet little girl, shaking, tears pooling in her big Susie Loo Who eyes. Not in front of Santa himself, but by just looking at last year’s picture of her - er, us - with Santa. And while we have a “therapy jar” along with her college savings fund, I did not want her to have post-traumatic-stress about Christmas. Because, much to the chagrin of the Grinch, one cannot hide from Christmas.
We chalked it up to being That Year with That Photo which we will someday show her fiancé as she glares at us with betrayal and vengeance. Yet here she was, a year later, my sweet little girl, shaking, tears pooling in her big Susie Loo Who eyes. Not in front of Santa himself, but by just looking at last year’s picture of her - er, us - with Santa. And while we have a “therapy jar” along with her college savings fund, I did not want her to have post-traumatic-stress about Christmas. Because, much to the chagrin of the Grinch, one cannot hide from Christmas.
Cut to last week, driving to preschool. Ex nihilo, she says, “Mommy, don’t tell me mermaids don’t exist because I want to believe in them.”
That’s all I needed to hear. Too bad mermaids don’t have a holiday. But maybe we could make one… I see lots of water on the hardwood floor and more money in the therapy jar.
That’s all I needed to hear. Too bad mermaids don’t have a holiday. But maybe we could make one… I see lots of water on the hardwood floor and more money in the therapy jar.
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