To the parents of the 4th grader who has my daughter asking me tough questions today:
I respect your decision to enlighten your offspring about who really stuffs stockings, fills baskets, and pays big bucks for used teeth. I know, having two grown children of my own, that snuffing out those few remaining embers of childhood innocence can alleviate the inconveniences of finding hiding places around the house, getting up in the middle of the night to set things out, and ensuring cash is readily available in case a tooth falls out near bedtime. I know that some relief may come from no longer carrying around the guilt of lying to your children every time there is a major holiday. I might even be a tiny bit jealous that you no longer have to plan weeks ahead for Easter bunny and Santa-related events.
What I do have a problem with, however, is your little darling deciding to ruin it for every other child sitting at her lunch table on Friday.
I am a blink or two away from some of the hardest parts of parenting. In just a few short years, I will have to wipe away tears caused by harsh words or a broken heart. I may have to comfort one of them when he or she is rejected by a group of peers or cut from a team. Peer pressure and all the emotions and woes that come with teenage life will be here before I know it.
Can you blame me for wanting her to believe for just a little bit longer?
So I did what any loving parent would do. I lied. I lied to keep a lie alive just a few more holidays. But this time the lie wasn’t about a mythical character that blesses undeserving children with gifts. I lied about you and your motives for saying what you did.
And so I am certain of a few things:
I am certain that Liv is going to stare at you during field day to see if you twitch or jerk uncontrollably. (One of my lies possibly involved you and illegal street drugs.)
I am positive she will not accept a sleepover invitation from your daughter in the near future. (I vaguely remember something coming out of my mouth about demons of Satan disguised as parents trying to kill the joy of children all across the world with lies about Santa and the others. And for that one, I am sorry.)
But I am also sure she is going to believe that the gifts that appear under the tree- while visions of sugar plums (whatever those are) danced in her head-- are all from a jolly fat man in a red suit with flying reindeer---at least for one more Christmas.
