We are in the height of the Christmas season. Our house is filled to the brim with green and red and sparkles and lights. We have made cookies and gingerbread houses and ornaments and crafts. We have stamped, addressed and mailed our cards. We have sung Jingle Bells at the top of our lungs. We have read all of the Christmas classics and have watched all of the movies -- at least twice. The gifts are wrapped. The groceries are sitting in the fridge ready to go. Nana and Papa will be here tomorrow morning. Christmas is two days away.
A few weeks ago you told me that you really wanted to believe in Santa but your gut said no. I was able to skirt around the issue and leave it with "well, what do you believe?" and then seamlessly changed the subject to something less risky like magic tricks and rainbows. I sighed a big silent sigh of relief and thought to myself, "phew...that was a close one." I thought your doubt had been cleared. I thought it was over. You went right back to writing your list and searching for Elmer and all of the other magical things that come with Christmas to a 7-year-old.
Yesterday Tyler was on a playdate, and you and I were hanging out in the kitchen having a snack. Out of the blue you looked up at me with your big brown curious eyes, and you said, "Mom, are you Santa?"My heart sunk into my stomach. I was not expecting this. I have always told myself that I will never straight-up lie to you. Daddy and I have been honest and open with many of your grown-up questions along the way...9/11 and the Boston Marathon and Sandy Hook...and even childbirth.
But this one felt different. You are still my baby. You are only seven. You are in the FIRST grade. And CHRISTMAS IS IN TWO DAYS!!!!
You had me cornered. You begged me to tell you the truth. You promised you wouldn't tell anyone. You even accused me of smirking -- when really I was just too stunned to say a thing. I wanted to cry. I wanted to freeze time and figure out the right thing to say to you. I wanted to phone a friend. I wanted to strangle the parent of the kid who told you there was no such thing. I wanted to go back in time to when you were four.
But in the end I did what I had to do. I said, "No, absolutely not" with the straightest face I could muster. I told you my smirk was because I thought it was hilarious that you could even think that dad and I would have enough money for all those presents. I promised you over and over that Santa is real and that he is not me.
And after taking a few hours to process, I am sure I did the right thing. I didn't lie to you. I am not Santa. Santa is far bigger than me. Santa is magic and innocence and imagination. He is kindness and generosity and compassion. Santa is the anonymous person who paid off all of the lay-away items at Toys-R-us for the 3rd year in a row. Santa is the man standing outside of Market Basket in the cold ringing the bell to collect money for the Salvation Army. Santa is the lady passing out hats and scarves to all of the homeless people in Boston. Santa is you and your brother when you secretly drop off your "pay it forward" bags all over town each year.
Santa is the belief that goodness still exists in this world...even with the horrors like 9/11, the Boston Marathon and Sandy Hook. Santa is the belief that small acts of kindness can actually make the world a better place. Santa is the belief that YOU have the power to make this world a better place.
So, no honey, I alone am not Santa. We are all Santa. And no matter how old I get, I will always believe.
Some day I hope you thank me for responding to you the way I did. Maybe you'll even see it as the great gift that it was...the gift of being a child. I promise you, another year of the big man in the red suit will do you no harm. You're seven. Enjoy the magic. Merry Christmas.
Love,
Mommy
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