Some of my fondest childhood memories are from Christmas. Not only was it a time of birthdays but Santa made it magical. The door to the basement was magically locked with the hook-and-eye lock from the inside!! and Dad had to run a Christmas card up the crack to unhook it so we could go downstairs and get our stockings, which had been hanging limp and empty the night before. Of course, it never occurred to us dim little kids that dad had filled our stockings, locked the door, and just gone out the laundry door.
And they always held back some presents until the night before, so there were more presents under the tree in the morning.
I could go on and on. It’s a harmless fantasy, as I see it, one which children won’t be sorry to let go when they’re old enough, but which can enrich their memories for the rest of their lives.
Same here. I never thought that he might not be real, as he was in a shop, and you could meet him. Now, however, I feel it is less believable because you go into one shop and there is a Santa in it, and then you go into the shop next door and there is another one in it.
I found out the truth by myself. Occassionally, I would receive presents that I had not asked for, but I liked them. I wondered how he knew what I would like. I also found it odd that he used the same wrapping paper as my mother did.
I figured out Santa was a myth around age 5, when I noticed the handwriting on the tags of the gifts from Santa was the same as the writing on the gifts from my parents. As far as I can remember, I didn’t bother me either.
I think it’s a nice thing for kids to believe in, however.
I was never taught to believe in Santa, but i don’t think I missed anything.
A while ago I asked my mother why she had never pushed Santa and she said it was because she’d rather I know that my Christmas presents came from people who knew me and loved me than some random white guy in a suit. YMMV, of course.
I was taught to believe. It was something magical just one night in the year and it made Christmas special. Santa always brought us one big present and left it out in front of the tree so we always knew which gift he left us. My parents put the rest of the gifts under the tree. Finding out the truth never bothered me. I was impressed by how much they loved me, they gave me magic in a world that holds very few thrills. I give my children that same magic. I still get exciting during the holidays because I remember that magical feeling, something special was in the air. Ok, so it wasn’t Santa, it was the love parents have for their children.
I don’t think I ever totally believed in Santa. I was more excited when I got presents from the dogs, with a little pawprint on the gift tag. I still get those, and it makes me happy.
My niece and nephew–4 and 6, respectively–believe wholeheartedly in Santa, and my BIL goes to the extent of leaving carrots at the backdoor for the reindeer and making reindeer prints in the snow to show the kids on Christmas. Their faces were awesome to behold.
Santa Claus is not a lie. He’s a story. Big difference. You might as well refuse to have you child read any fiction because, after all Goodnight Moon or The Cat in the Hat are “lies.”
Kids love stories. Don’t deny them that pleasure.
Nicest story: We told our daughter the Santa story. She really got into it (even threatening to turn a couple of other girls in for not believing). When she was six, she was talking away – Santa this, Santa that – and we enjoyed it all, since we knew she probably wouldn’t believe the next year.
On Christmas night, as I was tucking her in, she gave me a worried look.
“Daddy,” she said. “Is it OK to pretend to believe in Santa?”
I knew from the beginning there was no such thing as Santa Claus. No big deal until I mentioned it to a boy in my neighborhood who had been lied to. It ruined Christmas for the poor kid and I got the @#!% beat out of me for spilling the beans. Ah, yes…warm and fuzzy childhood memories. Humbug.
Good point, but I think where the lie comes in is when parents claim that he is not a fiction. You don’t tell your kids the Cat in the Hat was at the house.
I honestly don’t remember when I found out or figured it out - it was that little of a deal.
I do remember writing a letter to santa when I was 4 (I wanted a “Baby Alive” doll) - so it must have been after that. But, no, I didn’t feel betrayed or angry about my parents telling me about Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, etc. was real, and there is stuff that I still remember and resent from that same age - so if it had mattered, I’d still be holding that grudge too (yes, most of it is truly petty).
It doesn’t fall under the big, fat lie category - I think it’s fine.
Looks to me like the person most bitter over being lied to was quite literally lied to for two years following his/her proclamation that Santa wasn’t real. I agree with that person, I’d be pretty damned mad if I told my parents I thought Santa wasn’t real and they led me on for a couple years just because they didn’t have the guts to break the “spirit of Christmas” news to me.
As for my husband’s encounter with his father at age 5, he’s not bitter over that. Plenty other stuff was f’d up with his family that the Santa thing doesn’t even register.
Regarding the experience of figuring stuff out, I’d expect that my child would learn a lot of things on their own as well and am not sure I’d tell them a fairy tale and pretend it was real just for that. But then again, I don’t have children and don’t really plan on it, so it’s not exactly an issue for me.
I just told my eight year old son Santa isn’t real. Up to this point I’ve avoided answering straight out, just saying, “What do you think?” But I figured it was time to be straight with him, since he has asked several times, so I promised myself that the next time he asked, that would be it. When I gave him the news, he sort of sighed and said, “Let’s pretend that never happened” and walked off saying he’d still believe. I don’t quite know what to make of that.
Both! How else would we teach our kids to be good, cynical bastards! Its a precursor to their next shocker: the realization that love is also a great big lie. Then theyll learn that everyone cant be movie stars or athletes, that too much in the world exists in a dryer: fluff & spin… eventually it culminates in a visit to Hell where we’ll be taught by Satan that the greatest trick God ever played on us was convincing us he existed.
Take out the first link in the chain and the kids lible to lose it at the next step!
That’s it in a nutshell. You can appreciate the idea of Santa Claus, and willingly take part in the, well, tradition, I guess you could call it, without having to say he’s a real person.
I watch this incredible little person every day, and she never fails to astound me. She “cooks” things for us constantly, and all three of us pretend there’s real food in the bowls, and make slurping eating noises. She knows damn well there’s no real food in there, but that takes nothing away from the fun of the game, for her or us.
That, and she’s so sharp, it’s a little frightening, some days. I just know that if she figures it out on her own, I’m gonna one day hear, “So, what’s all this about honesty is the best policy, then? What happened with the rule about being punished twice for doing something I’m not supposed to, and then lying about it? Double standard ring a bell, pops?”
(That second rule is something I grew up with, but as her second birthday is at the end of this month, we’ve got some time before something of that nature is a real concern for us.)
[sub]And for the life of me, I still can’t remember when or how I figured it out.[/sub]
Skeezix’s post just reminded me of an article I read in The New Yorker not too long ago. It was about children’s imaginary friends. A psychologist who had studied the phenomenon said that sometimes the children would become concerned about her because she seemed to be talking about them as if they were real. “You know, he’s only make believe,” they’d say.
But when I found out the truth, I thought that I had been told this lie because I was gullible and I felt cheated. I clearly remember the day when I answered back I knew that Santa didn’t exist, and I was very unhappy with the lie and pissed off that they had “made fun” with me. So, it depends on the child.
I don’t remember when I found out Santa wasn’t real. I distinctly remember telling my mother though and being warned not to tell my brother (who was such an ardent believer that when I wrote a story about him meeting Santa for a Language Arts class started believing he had met him like that)
Even now though I still get bags (like stockings only just cloth bags filled with stuff) saying from Santa. Grandma does it for everyone even my Aunt’s and Uncles.
If I have kids I want them to believe in Santa. Or at the least the spirit of him which is what is important rather than the actual ‘person’, which is something I still believe in to this day.
