When my kids were little, we went all in during the Christmas season. We did Santa, the Elf on the Shelf, and cookies on Christmas Eve. We even sprinkled reindeer food (glitter, oatmeal and carrots) all over the lawn to usher the big guy in. Out on the farm we lived a charmed existence and I was on a mission for my kids to be kids for as long as possible and to celebrate the magic of everything.
But we do live in the world, after all, and at the tender age of 7, someone told Emma that there was no Santa Claus. To solidify their assertion, they explained that the present givers were really just her parents, and then that child smugly walked away. She came home and cornered me in the kitchen with large eyes that still sparked a tiny glimmer of hopefulness, though her hunched shoulders and quivering lower lip belied those eyes.
First I was a bit taken aback; then I was angry. The real world will be real so soon to us, and magic is so fleeting, that I found it completely unnecessary to steal this one little shard of mystery from her. It was just mean, and I could not believe how ferociously I felt about it. She asked, "Mom, is Santa really just parents?" I didn't even think, I just answered, "Well probably. I mean, as soon as you stop believing, he stops coming, so I would guess that in his case, it probably is his parents." She blinked, thought about that for a minute, and then followed up with, "what do you mean?"
I can't believe how easily it flowed from me. I said, "Well, if a child believes in Santa, then Santa comes. When a child stops believing, then there is no magic to get him here. Then parents have to step in. I, for one, hope you believe for a long time, because Santa can get his hands on the good stuff and I probably can't match his gift wrapping powers." I will never, never, forget the look of relief that washed over her. She scampered off to play and I felt edgy and tense all evening. Did I just lie to her? Did I look her right in the eyes and lie? What kind of a parent am I, anyway? But I couldn't bear to disappoint her, I just couldn't bear to see that little light burn out, so selfishly, I lied.
That one lie carried me through 5 more years. For five years, kids would scoff on the playground about Santa, and Emma came home bright and shiny and unblemished. She would occasionally express sadness over some other kid ceasing to believe, but I will tell you, she believed with her whole heart that he was really, truly, real.
Then 7th grade came around. As December approached, I overheard Emma talking to her brother and sister about writing their letters to Santa. I hadn't really thought about it, but it became very clear to me as I listened, that she still believed. Like, for REAL, still believed. And for all you fellow Glee fans out there, all I could think of was the Christmas episode where Brittany still believed, and wanted Santa to make Artie walk again. I thought, "Oh my goodness. I am raising Brittany."
Thus, a new problem was born. Now there was no way that the subtle friendship circle was going to gently break the news to her...she wouldn't have believed them anyway. And I can't have my almost-13-year-old walking around professing her belief in Santa for the masses. On one hand, I love love love that she is still so untarnished. I love that her innocence is intact, I love her willingness to suspend disbelief and go all-in with her feelings. It's part of what makes her such a good reader, I think. On the other hand...well...it's just time. I began thinking and thinking of ways to tell her, without hurting her too much in the process. (And YES, OKAY, I was also trying to protect myself and not come right out and tell her I am a big fat liar.)
I turned to the internet for help and read lots and lots of stories. My plan sort of evolved from there. Somewhere in mid-December, there was an afternoon when the littles were off to activities and neither Emma nor I had basketball practice. I asked her if she wanted to go to Graffiti Corner with me for an after school pastry and some hot chocolate. The sheer surprise and delight on her face reminded me that time alone with my big girl, for any reason, was long overdue.
Seated at the long table in the back, I listened to her chatter on about her day. During a break in the conversation, I began with, "Emma, there's something really important I want to talk to you about." She instantly looked wary and nervous. (Well, she should be nervous - I'm totally a lone ranger here going out into the parenting wilderness with nothing at all to guide my way.)
I asked her if she'd ever wondered how Santa makes it possible to be all over the world on Christmas night. "Sure," she said, "it's Magic."
Oh. Yeah. (Here's the part where I cursed that day five years ago in the kitchen. Mental note: tell the truth, always and forever, Amen.)
Instead, I said, "Yes, well, magic, and maybe a little something extra." She got very quiet, and locked her eyes on me. I thought she maybe already knew where this was going. So I plowed on, and recited what I'd been working on anxiously for a few days. "See, logistically, Santa really can't be one man doing all that work. In order for everyone to get everything, he needs lots and lots of help. That's where the gift-givers come in."
No response.
"Anyway. See, only some people have the gifter's heart. Have you noticed how some people in life seem to be always going out of their way for other people?"
She nodded, solemnly.
"Well, you can always tell a gift-giver by the way they're always doing that. Thinking of others, going out of their way to do things just because it improves someone else's day, or life. I come from a long line of gift-givers, actually. I was raised to always look for ways to make someone smile."
She smiled, then, and said, "Like how Grandpa sometimes mows and shovels for neighbors?"
"Yes, exactly! Anyway, when you've been given that kind of heart, it comes with a very big responsibility. I've been watching you, your whole life, Emma." I leaned in close, and whispered, "I think you might have one."
Here, she sat up a little straighter. "What does that mean? Have what?"
"Well. Here's the hard part, sweetheart. There isn't really one Santa. Not one guy who is sitting at the North Pole directing elves all day. Santa is actually the collective name of the gift givers. Those people out there, looking for ways to make someone's day...they're responsible at Christmas for the giving of the gifts. They take all kinds of forms...some of them actually dress up as Santa and let kids sit on their lap. Some of them work at food banks, at shelters, doing all the good they can. And the gift givers make sure that on Christmas, everyone has something special to open."
I let that sink in for a while.
"When you were little, I told you that Santa would always come if you believed. And he always has, right?" Careful nod. "He comes, because I'm the family gift-giver. Does that make sense?" More nods, but a little bit teary, now. "And here's the big thing: because I think you might be one, today I am giving you the official opportunity to become one yourself."
Her eyes widened, with surprise. "What?"
"Well, if you really, truly have the gift-giver's heart, then I'm ready for you to join us. It's a huge responsibility. For one thing, we have to keep the magic going for Carys and Cooper. I can't tell where their hearts are going to come out yet, on this. But you, Emma, I think you could do great things, if you want to be part of it. The big question is, do you want to?"
She was swirling, a little, from all this information, but I'd definitely sparked her interest. "What would I have to do?"
"Well, Santa is mysterious, and the number one rule is that you have to keep his spirit alive. If you accept the job, then you'll become that mysterious gift giver yourself. You'll have to choose someone each year, and make something special happen for them at Christmas. And they can never know it's you...you have to just write 'Santa' on the tag."
And now, delight. Because my girl really does have the heart for this...she really does. The next fifteen minutes were spent brainstorming...she already had an idea of someone in the community that we knew a little, but not too much. She'd noticed a loneliness around an adult that we bump into from time to time, and it had been worrying her. I took her shopping and she carefully selected some items that would be useful and some items just for fun, and we put together the loveliest package. On Christmas Eve she went to bed at the appointed time, but lay awake, waiting. When Carys and Cooper were fully asleep, I tapped on her door. We made our way out into the cold snow; it was a perfectly clear December night, somewhere around 11pm. I'd been warming up the car, and she tucked that pretty package under her coat and piled in.
As we drove to the neighborhood of her chosen person, she turned to me and said, "Mom, this is the most exciting thing ever! I'm so nervous!" I said, "I just knew you were right for this, Em. I just knew it." She tiptoed little footprints up to the door, and set the package very carefully on the doorstep. Then she scooted back to the car and we drove home. We talked about how awesome it is to have that magic feeling; this grown up in our town was going to find a treat on Christmas morning and have no idea how it got there or who sent it. It really was the best feeling ever.
And it lasted. I talked about how people with the true heart for giving find ways to do things year round. This year to date we've made three missions to deliver something unexpected to someone. In October she was out with the church doing a food drive. During a walk through a neighborhood she noticed a family who were likely doing without some of the comforts of life. When she came home, she whispered, "Mom! I think I found our Santa family!"
Watching her excitement, I felt relieved. I'm still not sure I handled the Santa Question exactly right, but I made it the best situation I could. And in the process I'm helping develop a heart that really will serve her well in the world, if she can keep it.
There was only one really hard thing. At the end of our conversation that day, I asked, "Emma, are you upset with me that I've maybe ruined the magic for you by telling about the gift-givers?"
"No. I understand. I mean, I'm kind of sad, I guess, that my believing is over, but I'm excited about becoming a Santa for someone."
"Oh phew!" I exclaimed with excitement. "And that means I'll be able to get your help remembering to move that dang Elf every night!"
There was stunned silence. "You mean, Sam's not real EITHER?!"
Ah, well, you can't win 'em all.
