The Santa Contradiction

* WARNING *
The following contains much sarcasm and should only be read by those with a sense of humor.

There is an increasing number of people who need to see psychiatrists in our country and many of them end up blaming their parents for the problems in their lives. Now around this time of year I can't help but wonder if some of these accusations are somewhat accurate and not just the selfish ramblings of an adult who never learned to take responsibility for their own agency. One major value we teach our children from a very young age is honesty. We beat it into them that they always need to tell the truth, because the punishment for lying is far worse than the punishment for the thing which they are lying about. And yet from the time they are teeny babies we, as parents, lie to our children. You lost a tooth? That's wonderful! Now put it under your pillow before you go to bed and a special fairy will sneak into your room while you are asleep and slip a dollar under your pillow in exchange for the dead tooth. Wonder where all that candy comes from on Easter? Well there's this giant bunny who comes to our house at night and leaves a basket full for you. Then there is Christmas. One night a year when an old, fat man dressed in red, flies around the world with his reindeer, slips down the chimney, and leaves a bunch of presents for you under a tree. Now I absolutely love Christmas! I love the excitement, the magic, the colors...but does anyone else see the irony in lying to our children for 5, 7, 10 years about the existence of Santa Claus when we encourage them to be truthful all year? I'm all for teaching our children to have and use their imaginations (hello, creative writing major). But what is the difference between our telling our children that all the presents under the tree were left there by Santa Claus and a little boy saying a giant bird flew in through the window when mom asks about her broken lamp? Both instances promote the use of creativity and the imagination, do they not? How can we expect our children to know the difference between right and wrong when we ourselves sit on the grey line, balancing in the middle, several times a year?

This debate has been going through my head lately with the impending birth of Gertrude. (FYI that's the name my mom and I have been using to refer to she-who-has-not-yet-been-named.) I don't want my child to be the one going to preschool or kindergarten and telling all the kids that Santa isn't real. I have every intention of keeping this lie alive. Why? Because its fun! There is something magical about going to bed Christmas Eve and seeing the big empty-bottom tree and waking up Christmas morning to see it chock full of bright packages all ready and waiting to be opened. I was one of those children who believed in Santa for quite some time. Like most kids, I didn't want to let the magic go. I even snuck behind the tree a few times when I was getting older and still wanted to believe, just to try and catch him in action. But I was always caught and sent to bed. However, the dream of Santa only lived in my mind. I had a perfect image of him at the North Pole with Mrs. Claus and all the toys and elves getting ready for that special night each year. Never once, as far back as I can remember, did I ever believe those Santa imposters at the mall were the real guy. I can remember at a very young age thinking how silly it was for children to think that the real Santa had time to come to the mall or show up to work or family parties. Maybe it was because I had my own image in my mind and none of the want-to-be's ever measured up. It goes along the same lines of turning your favorite fictional books into movies. They are never nearly as good. Why? Because the images you cooked up in your own mind are so much better!

Now I'm not sure where my irrational hatred for fake Santa's stems from. It might be that never once in my life have I believed they are real and resented them for trying to pretend that they were. Or maybe its because I've witnessed so many parents force their screaming babies and toddlers onto his lap in an effort to get some cute pictures. Whatever the case I hate, hate HATE fake Santa Claus's. The closest thing I can compare it to are those otherwise perfectly normal adults who have a fear of clowns. I'm not afraid of fake Santa, I merely despise him. When my children are old enough to understand who Santa is and they ask me if they can go visit him at the mall to sit on his lap and have their picture taken, fine. I will suck it up and take them. But I will NEVER take my children to sit on his lap unless they want to. (Sorry grandparents if you were hoping for pictures of my baby sitting on the lap of a stranger) Again, it stems back to the contradiction of parenting. Never, never talk to strangers! Here, sit on this strange man's lap and accept candy from him...I dunno, the whole thing freaks me out. I prefer to keep Santa a fictional character in my mind's eye. Making him "real" ruins the whole thing for me.

The reason behind this ranting is my family had their annual Christmas party last night. I have always loved my family's Christmas party! We eat yummy food, visit, and play an enormous game of white elephant. But this year a dark cloud hung over the party. His name: fake Santa Claus. There he was, my nemesis. Forcing us to sing and get up and dance and then...sit on his lap. I have always LOVED the fact that my family doesn't do the whole "Santa thing" at our parties. My friends would tell me horror stories of their family parties and still being forced to sit on his lap when they were in high school and I thought how lucky I was that my family never did that. The thought of having some stranger show up at a family event and take control never really appealed to me. Then I found out for the first year ever, my family had hired a Santa and for a brief moment considered skipping the party altogether. But I had been looking forward to the party so I decided to not be a Scrooge and just enjoy being with family. We ate dinner, visited, played our white elephant game; things were going great! Santa showed up and it was fun to see how excited (and somewhat terrified) the little kids all got. I sat back in the kitchen, away from the man I despise, and enjoyed watching the kids have a ball. He forced us to sing...not my favorite, but I joined in. Then he wanted everyone to get up and dance. Nothin' doin. I was having bad cramps at the party (nothing to worry about, just normal pregnancy stuff) but I knew from experience the best way to deal with the pain was to remain seated. Then the whole sit on his lap, tell him what you want, get a candy cane thing started. I was just fine in my spot in the kitchen, watching from afar. But then, when I thought I was safe, he turned around and told me it was my turn. I said no, but that wasn't good enough. He took it upon himself to come over and try and get me to participate. I don't know about you, but when I don't feel good I just like to be left alone. Add that to my irrational hatred for the imposter sitting next to me and I was one step away from punching the old man in the face. It took every ounce of self control I possess to not let my pregnancy hormones take reign and scream a string of profanities (because there were children present). I honestly do not know what the guy's deal was. I was sitting away from where he was, I clearly had "buzz off" stamped to my forhead and he was still as pushy as can be trying to get me to talk to him. Matt knows of my loathing for fake Santa and he agreed the guy was being way too pushy. I normally do not reveal this strange quirk I have to people, I normally just let them think I am being "shy" or "bah-humbug" at such Christmas parties when he and I are both present. But I lost it last night and feel my family needs to understand why. (Even if they don't understand it). I finally screamed at the guy that I wasn't feeling good and burst into tears. This was my worst mistake. I got the creep off my back, yes. But for the rest of the party everyone thought I was really sick and they were all worried about me. I had cramps, yes. I was in pain, yes. But the biggest part of my pain left when fake Santa drove away.

If my family deems it necessary to bring fake Santa back again next year, I can only hope that he keeps his distance. Otherwise the kids are going to get more of a show than they bargained for when I whip out my Taser.