In Kindergarden (at a Christian school, I might add) I told my entire class Santa wasn’t real and long about the second grade I wrote him a letter to prove it to my best friend. I don’t remember what I asked for, but I do remember it was never delivered.
My grandfather packed me to see Santa on the fire truck and basically anywhere else he could find Santa. One year he stuck a ” Santa Stops Here” sign in our yard, to irritate my mom I’m sure.
There was never the myth at our house that God wasn’t the only all knowing person or figure. My parents worked hard to teach us God knew everything and saw everything, not a man with a white beard you see at the mall.
I hear all the time how sad it is but I was never sad. The present I really wanted was always under the tree and I knew it got there from my parents hard work. I knew my dad had went out in the cold to work to provide what was under the tree. Besides, let’s all just admit we have Christmas everyday. I can’t name you one toy from my childhood I wanted and never received, although I’m sure there was one.
Not long after the little people moved in, Christmas conversations started to brew. I have always known I wouldn’t allow my children to believe in Santa but I never considered I would be the one to break it to children who already did. “Santa doesn’t stop at our house” I told them, “your stuck with me”. I went on to explain the true story of Saint Nick and the true meaning of Christmas. They wanted to know why their dad had lied to them, yes lied, and I brushed it off saying he just wanted them to have fun at Christmas. But as Christmas approached, the foundation of a true Christmas spirit started to develop.
You see, instead of looking to Santa, I want my little people to look to God. I want them to be thankful for the abundance He has provided us and I want them to learn to share. I want them to give away their toys and buy for kids who live their old life. I want that to feel their hearts and make them happy.
Besides, Let’s face it, a man coming down your chimeny in the middle of the night is kinda creepy.
Now, to all those fellow big people out there who allow Santa to stop at their house, great! I don’t judge you, I don’t tell my children to tell yours Santa isn’t really coming. But I expect that courtesy back. It’s not sad my little people don’t believe in Santa, it would be sad if I didn’t teach them to give, to look to God, and that one day we must all answer to God, because He knows and sees all things. It would be sad if I didn’t teach my little people to fear God.