Of all the things I?ve done as a parent, the thing I have taken the most heat for has been choosing not to participate in the charade. That is, the Santa charade.
Considering we have the internet, I was frankly befuddled with how other parents succeeded in upholding this farce with their own kids, and why they were disappointed?even aghast?to learn that mine were not in on it.
My husband and I are criminals, you see. We never told our kids Santa was coming down the chimney. (He wasn?t.)
And it?s not just Santa. We also never planted the idea that the Easter Bunny was hopping around littering plastic eggs underneath the sofa. (Nobunny was.)
We are guilty of the high crime of producing non-believers. We won?t plead innocent because we are willing co-conspirators in this non-heist. My husband wasn?t raised with Christmas or Easter. He?s the product of Korean immigrants who were largely ambivalent toward commercial holidays. No mythological gift-bearers crept into his apartment as a kid?there were enough people in the apartment to begin with!
I, conversely, grew up with both Santa and Easter Bunny, who wrote letters to my siblings and me on legal tablets. Sure, we noticed their handwriting was similar (and just like my dad?s), but I drank the blind belief Kool-Aid and continued to imbibe until I was nine. I loved the holidays and relished the lightheartedness and surprises they brought.
But there were a few things about these creatures that didn?t sit well with me. The promise...