The Claus Man - Deny or Lie?

When I was in about second grade, something happened on a Christmas morning that I will never forget.

I went downstairs, looking for signs that Santa had been to my house. I peeked into our living room and confirmed that indeed, the White-Bearded Jollyman had come. I ran upstairs to tell my parents and drag them down with my brother so that we could all revel in the magic and joy of Christmas morning together. When we went back downstairs though, I could swear that something had changed.

A toy was there that I absolutely did not remember from my quick, previous visit just two minutes before. It was one of those large, crawl-through tubes - about eight feet long - stationed in the middle of the floor, not something I would likely have overlooked the first time around. I deduced from this new arrival that I had almost just caught Santa in the act. The only plausible explanation was that he hid from me when I went downstairs, waited for me to go, and then he proceeded to finish his drop off. I had missed him by moments. That incident kept me believing for many more years, well beyond the time that most of my peers had accepted Santa as a fictitious figure.

My parents were big on making me believe in the Red Suited Man. On that morning, I remember my Dad really playing up the possibility that I had almost caught The Master. He asked me if I might remember seeing the bottoms of his black boots in the fireplace as he headed up the chute to get his last load for our house. I remember in subsequent years my mother coming in to tell me that Santa had been spotted on radar on the news and would not be to our area for several more hours. I now know she did this to get me to go to sleep, hoping that the assurance that he would not be there any time soon would force me to give up so that she could put out the toys and go to bed herself. From early on, I remember them telling a story about how we saw Santa when we were out looking at Christmas lights one Christmas Eve. He was walking from house to house with his bag of presents, and he came up to our car and gave me a candy cane.

Now, years later, I am faced with the dilemma of whether or not to perpetuate the Santa myth for my own kids. I've read a lot lately about how telling our children that Santa comes to our house in the night, drops down the chimney, and leaves them presents after eating his cookies and drinking his milk is essentially lying to them, bold and outright. I understand that. Furthermore, when we commit to the whole Santa thing, we're signing on for many, many years of "lying," and with each year we will most likely be telling multiple lies - lies to cover other lies, lies made up on the spot, lies to contradict what other non-believing children might tell our kids at school - so many lies.

And so, the question is: Is it wrong? Do we engage in what we recognize as outright dishonesty with our children? Does it make us less credible in their minds? Does it crush them when they discover the truth?

Here's what I know: Some of my favorite memories of childhood involve the magic and awe surrounding Santa. I remember what it felt like to go to bed on Christmas Eve and thinking, hoping he would come to our house. And it wasn't about the presents he brought. It was about the visit itself. It was about The Man, the feeling, the expectation, the enchantment.

When I finally did find out that there was no Santa, that the person leaving the presents was actually my mom, of course I was disappointed. Would I have preferred to have not had those years of believing though? Absolutely not. When I go through all my parents said and did to maintain the Santa facade, I harbor no resentment. When I remember my mother telling me that Santa was on the news and nowhere near arriving, I think she must have been pretty tired and ready to go to sleep. When I think about my dad playing up that morning, I think it's pretty darn hysterical. I can just imagine the faces my parents must have made at each other all morning, giddy over their daughter's excitement. And the story about us seeing Santa when we were out driving that night? When you hear my parents tell that story they have the same sense of wonder that a child might. According to them, that man might have been the real thing - they still remember it exactly, and they still don't know what or who we saw that night. So who am I to say it isn't true?

For me, what was gained far outweighs what might have been lost. All of these memories are of things we did together. And I have no intention of keeping the possibility of The Claus Man from my children, for as many years of lying as possible.

This is an original post to the Philadelphia Moms Blog.

Beth also writes her personal blog, Total Mom Haircut, and contributes regularly to The Imperfect Parent Blog and Mama Speaks.