The Great Santa Debate

My 11 year old son came to my husband and I the other day, and announced that he knew there was no such thing as Santa Clause.  And further, that he knew it was just us, acting like Santa.  To which, my husband chuckled, saying that “Us” was not completely accurate—since it’s generally just myself.

Most people I talk to remember how they found out this disturbing truth.  Personally, I was 6 years old, and came home crying to my mother, asking if it was true.  My parents had gone out of their way to keep the dream alive for as long as possible. They had special paper that only came from Santa’s Workshop.  No matter how late I stayed up, or early I got up, I never caught them putting out the gifts.  The cookies and milk were always nibbled and sipped. And there was always a present or two that I hadn’t told them about—only written in my letter to Santa Clause.

I was devastated for weeks!  For some reason this realization was very traumatic to me, and I never forgave the neighbor boy who had the audacity to share such depressing news with me.

I carried on the same farce with my own son for many years.  I even added the tidbit of having “Santa” write a thank you note to Brandon for the cookies and milk!  He had a blast, and loved to get up every Christmas morning and run around to check that the cookies and milk had been consumed, and see what Santa had written, even before checking out his stocking or the presents.  When he first came to me a few years back, asking if Santa Clause was real, I wrote a children’s story for him, discussing how “Santa” had more to do with the Giving Spirit, than the physical manifestation of St. Nicholas.  He didn’t ask again for a couple of years…until now.

I was personally saddened to see his innocence end, but at least he was able to come by it more naturally.  But the poor boy has been sworn to secrecy, not to tell any one else, and ruin their fun.  Plus he’ll have to keep up the party-line with a younger sibling on the way, including writing letters to Santa Clause and acting surprised and excited on Christmas morning.  And truth be told, I’ll miss being the Jolly Ol’ Elf for him—it’s always been fun for me to offer him that little pleasure.

For everyone who learned the hard truth too early, and all of us who love to keep the story going for our children, I say again, that St. Nicholas is alive in the Giving Spirit that we are willing to share with others!  Merry Santa-ing to all!

O'Tannenbaum

I’ve always been the one in my family pushing to put up the Christmas tree as soon as the Thanksgiving Turkey was cold.  When I was a kid, my little sister and mom would join the band wagon, while my father would drag his heals until at least after his Birthday, on the 11^th.  Now, as an adult, I’m still the same way, but now my son joins in the chorus on my side, while my husband makes excuses for delaying as long as he possibly can!

Getting the Christmas tree up has always been a bit of an adventure.  Once we finally had Daddy convinced that it really was time to get the tree, then he had to decide where the best place was to get the tree.  Sometimes this was off our own property, but often times from a local tree farm.  Of course this process included much tramping through mud to find the perfect tree. At which point poor, dear ol’ Daddy would have to get down in the muck to cut the tree by hand.  Said tree was then dragged back to the truck.

Once home, Daddy spent a good amount of time on the carport trying to wrangle the tree into a perfectly vertical position in the not-so-convenient tree-stand.  He finally got to take a break while the tree stood sheltered in the carport to dry.  This reprieve was short lived however, as his brood of women-folk were soon clamoring for him to bring the tree in.  He and mom would decide where to put the tree for the year, and he’d have to help move furniture around, usually trying a couple of different formations before it was decided that it all looked just right.  Now Daddy got to dig through the storage bins to find the Christmas tree lights, check that they all worked, and untangle them.  It was also Dad’s responsibility to get the lights on the tree before we started with the other decorations.

Finally, after hours of waiting ever-so-patiently for Daddy to FINALLY get the tree ready for us, my mother, sister and I would apply all the little ornaments to the tree.  My father would start his German Christmas Carol record (Yes, record) and we’d decorate the tree to “O’Tannenbaum”.  Daddy would sit, rocking in his chair with a cup of tea, softly singing in German along with the music, and watch as we meticulously adorned the Christmas tree.

The tree is already up at my house this year, much to my husband’s chagrin.  We do usually keep it a little simpler than it was during my childhood, by just getting our tree at the supermarket, or in really lean years, pulling out the plastic tree.  However, my husband stops at getting the tree properly placed in the stand. After that, the lights and decorations are all on me. 

I love having the Christmas tree in the living room, seeing those lights, and reminiscing about the times that each of those special ornaments represents. But I have to admit, now that most of the decorating and taking down are MY responsibility, I suddenly have a whole lot more sympathy for why my father seemed reluctant to start on this particular Holiday project.  On the other hand, I wouldn’t forgo having our own Tannenbaum for even twice the amount of work!  Aah, what a wonderful time of year!!