I was presented with an opportunity to shine one day last December. It was my moment. The moment to encompass everything I always said I would be as a mother. The moment to portray truth and nurture a relationship of honesty and trust. I looked that opportunity straight in its’ big, blue eyes, and failed. Big. Fat. Failure.
Yesterday, I was once again presented with the perfect opportunity to redeem myself…to climb atop my parental pedestal and shine truth and light. There they were. Five little words, uttered by my beautiful little girl. Those 5 little words, a mother’s most dreaded question (second only to, “Where do babies come from?”), resonated in my head.
“Mommy, is Santa Claus real?”
Some snot-nosed little brat in Megan’s class took it upon herself to shatter the beautiful deception that is Santa Claus, declaring that this jolly old elf is none other than her mom and dad. She has essentially attacked the final frontier of her innocence. What a little shit.
{Must not track and torture seven-year-old little shit.}
“Mommy, is Santa Claus real?”
I should have seized the moment. I should have been honest with her. I should have ripped her heart out of her chest and thrown it on the floor. I didn’t. I lied. I failed.
Me: “What do you believe, baby?”
Megan: “Um, I think he’s real.”
Me: “Then, of course he is real! It is okay to believe in something that others don’t. You know, when you stop believing in Santa, Mommy and Daddy have to do it. Then you only get underwear.”
Megan: “Really?”
Me: “Yes. Now go clean your room. Santa is watching.”
Don’t judge me.
I couldn’t do it. Maybe next year.
In my defense, I do try to keep the focus of Christmas on Christ’s birth and emulating the charity of Christ. But, let’s face it. Jesus - he’s a pretty forgiving guy. Santa Claus - not so much. With Santa it's all, "You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town." And worse, Santa spies on you. "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake." You'd better be good or good ole Santa won't bring you any toys.
I’m sure I’m scarring her for life. I’m sure I’m nurturing trust issues and fostering a perpetuation of lies. Just add another notch on the old parental failure score board. At least she'll have a lot to talk about in therapy one day.
