*

As a rule, as much as it is humanly possible, I don’t lie to my kids at all.  They know when I’m sad, they know when things are stressful, they know where babies come from, and they are generally in tune with, and aware of the world around them.  Of course, parenting is a balancing act, and I certainly don’t expose them to anything they’re not ready for, as much as I can help it.  While I am open and emotionally available and honest, I also protect them from pain and trauma, and certain challenges that they will, inevitably have to face at some point.  I am, I think, a very responsible gatekeeper.

 *

And I won’t lie to them about  Santa Claus.  Just as my own parents did with me, I will explain to my children that Santa Claus is absolutely, unequivocally, completely real.  As real as real can be.  He is a magical spirit, a saintly, pagan-ey, Christian-ey spirit of generosity, kindness, goodwill, and the protection of children.  He is an embodiment (and disembodiment) of comfort, safety, magic, the mysteries of winter, and of hope and warmth in the darkness.

 *

Santa will arrive at our house on Christmas eve, after the children are snug in their beds, with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads, and he will eat up most of the shortbread and raw milk that we put out for him, and he will leave a letter for each of our children, describing their talents and wonderfulness, and wishes for a new year filled with joy, light, energy and peace.  Along with the letter, there will be a stocking full of oranges, pomegranates and a few small beautiful items: organic chocolate and a marvellous special gift for each member of our family.  (And he and his elves will magically clean the house, which I, mum, will be so SO very pleased with.  Thank you Santa!)

 *

Like every year, my kids will anticipate the arrival of Santa Claus, knowing that no matter how irritated their mother might have been with them at times, Santa loves and cares for *all* children equally, and knows that every kid is right, good, and deserving.

 *

Do I know how Santa physically maneuvers through every chimney, or how he manifests his arrival for children who live in tenements, tents or churches?  Nope, not really.  Not for me to say.  I do help him out though, as much as I can, when it comes to our own home.

 *

And as occurred for me, I deeply hope (and see no reason to doubt) that my children’s faith in Santa will transition seamlessly from a literal belief, to a metaphorical and spiritual knowing.  When I was a child, there was never any “talk” about the ins and outs of how Santa Claus organized the implementation of his yearly, monumental task.  There was no event during which my parents sat me down and told me the “truth”.  The truth–I see now more than ever–is that Santa Claus is palpably real, and made real through us–with us, and in us, by the awesome power of narrative (yeah–just like Jesus! woo!).  Life isn’t, I am afraid, fact.  Life isn’t science.  Life is empirical ambiguity.  Or ambiguous empiricism.  (Or something like that, ha).  Life is nuance.  This is the gift.  Reality is constant uncertainty and fluctuation, and if I have learned *anything* it is that Santa Claus is pretty much the *only* thing that’s real in this world of complete insanity.

 *

If I were to ask my sixty-four year old mother today, whether or not Santa Claus is “real”, she would look at me, clear-eyed, and say “Of course he’s real Yolande.  Why on earth are you asking me such a silly question?”  And although I won’t deny that I was an extremely privileged child–in all ways–Christmas was never about objects–not by any stretch a consumerist extravaganza.  My most memorable and favourite Christmas present from Santa was a lifejacket.  My little sister and I both got one, to wear on canoe trips in the spring and summer.  I can’t describe the thrill of seeing the lifejackets under the tree–I think they were presented being worn by two teddy bears–and Alex and I put them on over our pyjamas, and wore them all of Christmas day that year.

 *

In our family, we revel in, and celebrate the many commercial representations of Santa Claus that we see out and about, while at the very same time, actively pursuing a Christmas experience that focuses not on corporate crap, but on family togetherness, delicious traditional foods, Christmas carols, song, story, giving, and also my unapologetically progressive adaptation of the Jesus story which focuses on the beauty and perfection of Birth. Jesus was an anarchist, pacifist freak, who believed in the equality and rights of women, men and children. Like Jesus, each child is born encircled with a halo of fundamental universal adoration, whoever they are, whether of “lowly” or “noble” extraction. Birth is beautiful and normal and also holy, by definition.  Babies can be born safety in barns and stables and churches and cabins.  Birth is precious and wonderful and we are all children who need and warrant unconditional love.  And Christmas is a magical swell time. And there’s also Santa Claus.  It may all sound complicated, and yet, is so very uncomplicated.  Approaching Christmas in this somewhat magpie fashion is surprisingly easy without the influence of television or advertising, or (because our kids are homeschooled) other kids’ contagious expectations of the latest video game or unnecessary plastic object.  Whether or not we end up sitting on Santa’s knee at the mall totally depends on whether the kids are feeling it, and I would never *ever* urge my kids to do that, or have photos taken of them crying in a stranger’s lap.  Those guys in the red suit are just Santa’s helpers, anyway. No one ever sees the real thing!

*

We also make a point of giving to others at Christmastime, especially those who are less fortunate.  We donate part of our pottery sales to helping non-profits, we give to the food-bank, and I’d like to make that more tangible and active as  our kids get older.

 *

The suggestion that I am *lying* to my children in asserting my conviction that Santa Claus is real, is utterly preposterous, and quite sad to me.  I am extremely proud to be able to offer my relatively insignificant (all told) services as a helper to the jolly elf on Christmas eve.  I do a little organizing, and a tiny bit of channelling, and the rest, really, is up to him.

 *

Yet even more preposterous than the suggestion that I am somehow disrespecting and deceiving my children, is the number of smug, self-righteous  articles (here is an example of one such ridiculous article)  and even vitriolic & abusive Facebook threads debating the subject of “The Lie” of Santa Claus.  That it is even possible that the topic can cause such rage, is, well, the epitome of cynicism, I suppose, and perhaps touches on some of what is “wrong” with the world today (if I may be so bold, ahem).  Many of these vicious arguments have taken place on pages dedicated to peaceful parenting (Check out the vociferousness of the Santa Claus debate on Our Muddy Boots, a page that has lately lost my attention after their strangely aggressive attacks on those who keep the Santa Claus story, while asserting that Jesus is somehow more “real”. I did weigh in somewhere in there, but I think my comment was studiously ignored. Anyway).

 *

I don’t actually give a darn that some parents may decide to tell their children that Santa Claus is a story, a myth or a lie.  This won’t affect my kids, even if they were to encounter one of those highly informed children whose parents  have a miraculous stranglehold on certainty and “rightness”.  My kids have been inoculated against such nonsense by my radical truth-telling.  I myself remember coming home one day from school, to tell my mother that so-and-so had said that Santa isn’t real.  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that”, said Mum.  Don’t you even worry about it.  Santa is as real as you can imagine.”