TheBanyanTree: Who The Hell is My Secret Santa? (paul)

[LL DeMerle]

OMG. Did I ever mess up as a parent! Back when Christine was reaching the age to know who Santa was, most of my friends in New Hampshire were Santa-bashers. I stayed out of it.

My mom came to visit and we all went shopping. As we entered the store, my mother said to Christine, “Let’s go see Santa!” Christine asked why, and Grandma told her she could sit on his Lapland tell him what she wanted for Christmas, then he would bring it to her house.

“THAT MAN IS NOT COMING TO MY HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!” The only thing she didn’t say was “fucking night,” because she’d never heard the word, “fuck,” before, which is now one of her favorite words, closing in on forty.

My mother was stunned, and I think, and maybe a bit disappointed that I didn’t make her. This is the same Grandma who thought I wasn’t diligent enough about toilet training, and so took it on, herself, one visit. Yeah. That ended up with Grandma leaving the bathroom ion tears and Grandma was a tough cookie. I didn’t need to say, “I told you so,” which I have a policy against doing…instead, I give the eyebrow and a sympathetic nod.

Let’s fast forward ahead to 1997, when Stephen was in Kindergarten and came home from school in distress.

“Mom. Everyone at school is mad at me,” he said, hanging his head.

“What in the world happened?” I asked. Now, I’d just say, “What the hell?”

“Yeah, well, they were talking about Santa Claus and I told them there was no Santa Claus and…”

I felt all of the blood drain from my face and saw a mob of angry parents ready to gouge my eyes out.

Oh. My. GAWD. Merciful Jesus, don’t let me die, take my kid, but…

So, I do believe I avoided shrieking…or maybe not. I probably asked,

“WHY did you say that?”

“Well, there isn’t a Santa Claus, is there?”

Oh my God. How is this happening?

“THERE CERTAINLY IS.”

::::surprised little face:::::

“What makes you think there is not?”

“Uh, um? Uh…"
.
"Here’s what you do. You go tomorrow and you tell the others that you discovered that you were mistaken and that your mom assured you there is absolutely a Santa Claus. That’s where your gifts come from, goofball.”

“OH! OKAY!”

So, the next day, Steve came home from school and reported that all was well, everyone had forgiven him, and I was not going to be tarred and feathered while he grew up in foster care.

Apparently, due to Christine’s fear of Santa Claus (and anything over two feet tall in a costume,) I didn’t talk much about Santa? Someone wisely pointed out not to waste our money on Disney World. Christine was six when Stephen was born, and I do remember talking about Santa when he was little, at least once. I think. I do remember being at the mall and asking him id he wanted to talk to Santa, whereupon we had a quieter revolution than Christine’s…however, when the poor, unwitting four year old was standing with his back to Santa, and Santa walked up behind him and began talking to him…man, I wish I had video of that moment.

Anyway, the Kindegarten class. Damn, what a bullet I dodged.

Well done, if I must say so, myself.





LLDeMerle at icloud.com

> 
> Tobie rote:
>> I told my kids not to mess with other peoples’ belief systems. So if the subject came up, keep your mouth shut about Santa Claus. 
>> That was not easy to do. I was asking my children to be dishonest in order to protect the dishonesty of other kids’ parents.  
>> From my experience, I didn’t want anyone screaming at my kids, or me. 
>