The first fight I ever remember having with a friend was a not-so-philosophical debate regarding the dubious existence of the man, the myth, the legend: Santa Claus.
It was my best friend, and at five, that was a considerable portion of my world.
But the other sizeable portion, of course, was my family. And my family had told me that Santa was real, and in all my years of barely cognizant life I had never known them to lie to me, so I believed them.
Then one day I came home from kindergarten with this dramatic story about the argument with my friend and how I had defended our family honor. My older brother couldn't bear for me to lose a friend over the dude in the red suit, and promptly took me to the closet in my parents' room to show me the gifts that would have been from Santa that year.
My parents might have been able to convince me, even then, that it was their own stash and, Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, but they agreed with my brother - it wasn't worth the loss of a friendship, and it was time for The Talk.
The thing is, my mother - being a bit flowery with words and charmingly poetic in her perceptions of all matters of life - still believed in Santa Claus. At least, she said, Santa Claus' spirit was real.
I find it pertinent at this point to note that, future theologian or not, as a child I thought Santa Claus was like God's brother from another mother. I mean, I think I had a good idea about what was in Jesus' job description, but who was God to me at that point?
He sees you when you're sleeping; he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake!
Sure, God was more powerful (all year long!) and less materialistically affectionate than Santa seemed to be, but it was difficult to differentiate them enough to understand why my spiritually-inclined mother would explain to me that one exists (sometimes as Spirit) and the other does not exist (except in spirit).
As most "emerging adults" evaluate decisions their parents made in order to form their own parenting philosophies, I have since wondered: if I ever were to have children, would I tell them that Santa Claus is real - in spirit or otherwise? For the most part, I believed that I wouldn't.
Sometimes religious families don't share the Santa story because they consider it a "secular" tradition or because it seems to teach - eventually - disbelief, especially disbelief in a seemingly omnipotent, benevolent being basically hailed as Divine around some Christmas trees.
Despite my own initial difficulty separating out the "characters" of God and Santa Claus, this ultimately was not a major problem. Atheists and cultural theists may not entirely understand what I mean when I say this, but by the time I had a personal experience of what I understood to be God, the difference was abundantly clear: Claus could feasibly still exist in whatever form people please, but I can't attest to that so long as I have no experience or reason to affirm it for me. Sort of the way I don't blame atheists for not seeing sufficient evidence for God. I think it would be worse for someone to lie about what they believe or don't believe than not to get the facts straight, whatever they may be. The reasons I have for a belief in God are sufficient evidence for me, and to be the most authentic person I can be, I can only attest to what I believe to be true as genuinely as I can.
Thus the concern I have is not that a child would equate Santa and God, or that their inevitable Santa-crushing moment may shake their faith. I believe in a God who is revealed and made known in various ways, and I believe that faith-shaking moments too often lead to spiritual growth to want to ward them off entirely.
Rather, my concern is simply this: I don't know that I can tell my child that I believe something I don't. It may be a fanciful, wonderful story; the spirit of giving may be alive and well indeed; but Santa Claus as he has come to be known and shared throughout the ages is not a tradition in which I'm that sentimentally invested.
I suppose I could imagine telling stories about Saint Nick, and presenting it that way, or even simply asking children what they think and letting them go through a natural progression.
Last year I saw the Finish film called "Christmas Story" about the orphaned Nikolas, who begins delivering toys to the children of the families who have taken him in year after year, and finally to children throughout the locale. I enjoyed it in its entirety, except for the ending, at which point (SPOILER ALERT) jolly old Saint Nikolas flies off into the moonlight on his inexplicably airborne reindeer-drawn sleigh, waving and winking and whooping out Macy*s Santa belly-laughs. And I know it was obligatory - any kid-friendly film can't risk spoiling the Santa industry for a young viewer. But it would have been such a beautiful movie even without it, and I sort of wish they had let it be.
In spite of all of this, or perhaps in light of it, I admit I've been pondering this quandary from the other end of the spectrum lately. Why? Because I read this piece online and, besides my own mother's more in-depth explanations to me about why she became a firm Santa-espouser, it is perhaps the most beautiful pro-Santa 'argument' I've ever come across. Having read this letter from a mother to her child who demanded the truth, I might consider changing my own stance on what I would tell my hypothetical, nonexistent offspring - and when, and how.
Click here to give it a read. It really is rather beautiful, and it would make my Mama weep with happy Santa-spirit warm-and-fuzzies.
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