So For The Last Time, 'What Do You Think?'
I had rehearsed over and over in my head how I would handle the conversation.
I would want to say that, Yes, Santa isn't real. But that doesn't mean I wanted to lie to you or fool you out of some desire for the illusion of parental omnipotence.
I would want to say that I wasn't always comfortable with leading you to believe in some pseudo-supernatural being in the place of God during a season when your faith is celebrated.
I ever really liked that smug, distorted caricature of Christmas. The guy who gives more to rich kids than poor kids, even as he says you get things because you're good.
I would want to say that my distaste for Santa made it so that I wouldn't ever say he was real -- only that I let you believe it if you wanted, if only so that you wouldn't be that weird kid at school.
I wanted it to be a moment in which I could absolve myself of the deception, to finally come clean and explain that I never wanted to do it, anyway.
The Easter Bunny I was OK with. The Tooth Fairy I was fond of.
But when one falls, they all fall.
It was a lot less dramatic than I thought it would be.
Here's how it went for Asa tonight -- age 10, on March 1, 2011 ...
"Hey, Asa lost another tooth tonight. I've got a $2 bill in the truck that I can put under his pillow."
And then the sound of a little boy stirring.
It's late, but he's still awake. He comes out of his bedroom.
Then ... The Question.
He's smiling.
"Is the Tooth Fairy real?"
For the last time, I once again answered with a question -- "What do you think?"
He shook his head. "No."
What a heavy moment. I didn't realize it would have so much weight.
"I have two more questions," he says. "Is the Easter Bunny real?"
"What do you think?"
"No."
"And now the big one," he says.
"What?" I say. "The St. Patrick's Day leprechaun?"
He laughs.
"Santa Claus."
I shake my head.
I say, "What did I always tell you when you asked that question?"
"You asked me, 'What do you think?'" he says.
It comforts me to know that's how he remembers it.
I try to tell him that "I never wanted to ..."
But before I can really, truly go there, he says, "I read it online."
He tells me that he read that Santa Claus used to be a real and that he was a nice guy who would give people presents at Christmas.
I don't totally know the intricate details of the story of St. Nicholas, but I imagine that's about what it's like -- at least from the perspective of a 10 year old.
"I read it online."
Isn't that just the story nowadays?
I thought I would be the gatekeeper of such world-altering information.
The irony of it all.
And that's great.
The most important thing he cared about was that he keeps getting what he always got. And that is something I can appreciate.
I guess the speech is just unnecessary -- at least right now in this moment of awakening, where a little boy simply expresses what he's felt for awhile.
And he's smiling. Thank God for that.
