“Mommy, is Santa Claus real?” My 5-year-old son asks quietly from the back seat of the car. Oh no. How do I answer this one?
“Do you think Santa is real?” I ask as I break out in a cold sweat.
“Yes.”
“I guess he’s real then.”
Silence from the back seat, not a good sign. He’s thinking. He’s thinking, and he’s not happy with my answer. My husband and I, like most parents, have tried to stress the true meaning of Christmas to our son, not just the commercial one. We tell him it’s about love and family and giving and, for some people, it’s the celebration of the birth or Jesus, the son of God. That, of course, sparked another sweat inducing conversation, which I will share at a later date. But sticking with Santa for now, I know my son is not satisfied. He wants, no he needs, me to tell him flat out that Santa is real. I’m stuck and I’m not prepared for this question, even though I know I should be. This is one of those conversations I should have had with myself at 2 a.m. some morning when I couldn’t sleep and had 4 more hours to compile possible answers and log them in my brain for future use.
“Mommy, tell me in true, is Santa real?”
“Did someone tell you he isn’t real?”
“No. I just want to know.”
“Santa is in your heart. If you believe in him, he is real.”
“What?”
Exactly. What the heck am I saying. I don’t want to lie to my son, but I don’t want to spoil ‘Santa’ so early on in his life. And I certainly don’t want him blabbing to the other kids on the playground that Santa doesn’t exist because his mommy said so. I’m torn between honesty and good old fashion seasonal fun.
“Does it matter, really?” I ask and wince.
“YES!”
“Okay. Fine, but you know that you only get one present from Santa anyway. All your gifts come from your family and friends who love you and spend their own money to buy things for you for Christmas.”
“Whose money does Santa spend?”
Oy. “I think he gets it from the government.”
“Who’s the government?”
Wow. I am is so much trouble here. The only thing I can think to do is to pray. I pray that the neighborhood kids are outside in front of our house on their bikes and skateboards. If that’s the case, my son will be distracted from the Santa question in about 30 seconds, once we turn the corner onto our street. If my prayer is answered, my son will jump out of the car, grab his scooter and all his gear and get busy with his friends, so busy he’ll forget our conversation from moments before. Please Santa, if you do exist, I need help here. I need the neighbors to be playing outside. Right. Now.
“Mommy, did the government give Santa enough money to buy me a Dual Action Light Saber?”
Come on, come on, I’m almost there. There’s our street. I’m turning, I’m turning onto our block, yes! There are at kids everywhere. Helmets are on, skate boards are rolling, balls are being thrown. I’m saved. There is a Santa after all.
“Lemme out, mama, quick!” My son yells as I roll to a stop in our driveway, and he barrels from the car to catch up with his best buddies playing dodge ball on the front lawn. I sigh a deep sigh and relax, until I realize that this is only a temporary fix for the Santa dilemma. Does he or doesn’t he exist? Lie or don’t lie to a 5-year-old? I better get my story worked out in my head pretty quickly, because I know this question will come up again later at bath time. That’s when the big questions usually come.
Now I’m the one who’s barreling out the car and making a bee-line to the mommy next door. She has undoubtedly already tackled this question since her kids are a bit older. I need some advice, now. I’ve only got 5 hours until bath time! Yikes.
