The Great Santa Debate

Man! I just wrote an article for our local newspaper about how to deal with the question of Santa and your kid. It was a topic suggested to me by our editor and while definitely a worthwhile to explore, the fact that this is such a hot topic amongst Generation X parents might say more about my generation and our obsession with trying to not warp our kids or ruin their capacity to have have faith than it does a real, thorough look at how to explain Santa....IT'S SANTA CLAUSE, PEOPLE!! Do you know anyone at work who believes in Santa? Or better yet, anyone in middle school that still believes in Santa? I think the fact that we take it all so seriously is just another woeful indicator of the helicopter-style that is becoming more and more a trademark of this generation's parenting. 

Aren't we over-thinking this a bit much?! I mean, were any of your lives ruined because you found out Santa wasn't real? (Side Note: If I find out your kid is the one who tells mine that Santa isn't real, I'm spitting in your egg nog. I'm not joking.) Oh, and kids under 10, if you're reading this Santa is totally real, I'm just bitter because I get lumps of coal in my stocking.

Anyway, writing the article, which I totally stand behind and believe, got me to thinking about some of my own childhood memories of Santa-Christmases past.

Up until we were in 4th, 3rd, and 2nd grade, respectively, my sisters and I would all pile-up in one bedroom on Christmas Eve. We slept in the same room so that we were all aware of when another one was about to make a mad, middle-of-the-night dash to the living room to try and see if Santa had come yet (because 5 AM just wasn't early enough). I'd like to say we treated this time as a reflection on all the blessing we had and that we spent the time bonding and singing Christmas carols to one another...but, no. It was a time of tense waiting and barely concealed hostility (especially aimed at our oldest sister Linz, since she was the one who would typically try to break out of jail and get a sneak-peek at our Santa swag before anyone else).

Turns out the suspicion was well placed. One year, I think it was probably Christmas 1991, we had a Santa Swap-Up. It was 5 in the morning and we were all going through our piles that Santa had left when Brat, my younger sister, noticed she had two Beast (a la Disney's Beauty and the Beast) Barbie dolls.

"Mom, did Santa accidentally bring me two Beast dolls?!" she asked, even more confused than usual, her red hair a mess around her freckled, 4 year-old face.

"No, that's weird. I thought each of you had a Beast doll on your piles. Robbin, do you have yours?"

I only nodded in response because I was wallowing, blissful and happy in a mound of Matel-Pepto-Bismol-Barbie pink.

"Linz, is yours on your couch?"

With her back turned toward my parents, clutching two Cabbage Patch kids in her greedy little hands, my older sister (7 at the time) goes, "No. But he brought me these two babies instead, I think." 

As an adult I understand the look that passed between my parents. As a child, it was all lost on me as I started organizing dates between my new Belle and Beast dolls.

"Uh, Linz, that Beast doll was on your couch and that baby that you're holding was on Brat's."

Without missing a beat or bothering to turn around, Linz responds "No, it wasn't."

Again with the looks between my parents. "Um, Linz, I think it was. See how each baby looks kind of like each of you? Robbin has a blond one on her couch. Why would Santa give you a brown-haired baby and a red-haired baby and then give Brat two Beast dolls?"

"I don't know! That's what he did," she responded, still refusing to look at our parents and marching the dolls over the mounds of other toys she had yet to look at.

"Linz [instead of "Linz" her full name was used here, but I'm not gonna write that down for fear of retaliation], that baby was on Brat's couch. Give it back to her."

"No it wasn't! It was on mine. He gave it to me and I'm not going to share."

What followed was my oldest sister being dragged into my parents room for a Come-to-Jesus chat at 5:30 in the AM. There were some tears involved but eventually Brat got her baby and Linz was "forced" to take to Beast doll.

To this day Linz will swear she did not sneak out of our bedroom while Brat snoozed on guard duty and do the swap, even with video-graphic evidence that proves the contrary, but...ahem, Linz? The jig is up. We know Santa Clause. And she told you to put that doll back where you found it. 

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