It was smooth sailing for me on my decision not to introduce Santa as more than a cartoon character to my children until the plan hit a snag when Jon Alex was in pre-kindergarten.
The same wonderful teacher who retailored for him Father’s Day into Awesome Grandpa Day loved the hell out of Christmas and stuffed Jon Alex with so much Santa shit that I couldn’t keep up.
When Jordan was a baby, she thought Santa was the UPS guy. She knew without illusion how her gifts arrived at the house and, very importantly, who paid for them. When I was a kid, I thought it was highly unfair for Santa to bring some kids $200 tech toys and Evel Knievel stunt motorcycles while bringing other kids nothing at all. By the time I’d found four years’ of letters to Santa in my dad’s chest of drawers when I was seven, I was already hurt and disappointed by the entire system. Born with expensive tastes, I rarely got what I asked for. Once I knew my parents were Santa, the disparity of how poor kids were treated in the Santa system made perfect and sad sense.
Once I had my own family, the three of us were good for the four years before Jon Alex’s Santa indoctrination. Jordan made requests, I said I’d see what I could do. JA got stuff under the tree and was happy for it, giving no real thought from where his loot originated.
Then came my worst nightmare. He loved that teacher, I loved that teacher. I did have to complain to the school director that the teacher was playing gospel music during nap time and that she told my little boy that when his cat died, the cat wasn’t going to heaven since heaven was only for people. I got to field Jesus questions and cat heaven questions, then: why don’t we have a chimney?
Answer: because we don’t have a fireplace.
Follow-up question: then how is Santa going to get in and leave our presents?
And so it’s been ever since. For three holiday seasons now, Jordan has been thrown into fits of derisive, yet knowing, giggles at her brother’s every mention of Santa. He is now six and his toys are not cheap. Video games, the consoles, computer software, bikes. He got confused the one time I said we’ll see to one of his requests. Apparently, Santa does not see. Santa produces.
I need to do better with introducing world religions, cultures and beliefs to my kids. Maybe Jon Alex would have nodded politely during the Santa seminar and remained silent, not wanting to ruin it for other kids like I’d taught Jordan to do six years earlier. Too late now. He’s going to have to find out the hard way like I did and like millions of other kids who discovered their parents had been lying to them for more than five years straight.
Until then, I hope Q has a Santa suit. We may need it for one more year.
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