The Santa Claus Controversy: To Lie or Not to Lie

This time of year, with the last of the Thanksgiving turkey eaten, we begin the Christmas rituals: the lights go up, the stockings get hung, the tree gets trimmed, the shopping gets done, and many of us start feeling a tad bit nostalgic, as the Ghost of Christmas Past comes a-haunting.

This morning, I woke up remembering one long ago holiday season, when I was 10 years old and in 5th grade. It was just two days before Thanksgiving, and I was looking forward to watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on my family’s black-and-white TV, fully knowing that when Santa Claus concluded the parade, the countdown till Christmas was officially on. The date was November 26, 1963. Sadly, America was still mourning the tragic loss of our 35th President.

My teacher, still somber from the earth-shattering events of the week before, let us have some free time to read, which, by the way, was my favorite thing to do back then. Yet, every time I tried to read my book, I caught myself staring at my obviously distressed teacher, as he voraciously devoured newspaper after newspaper, each one blaring a more horrifying headline than the last one, with words I barely understood back then, but now know all too well: assassin, sniper, conspiracy. Graphic newspaper images of the First Lady’s bloodstained, pink Chanel suit, and Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald to death were splattered all over his desk.

After a while, I settled down with my book, and before long I was lost in the fictionalized world of a children’s novel. Although I can’t recall the name of that book, I can remember, as clearly as if it were yesterday, the title of a chapter I read: The Truth About Santa Claus. I was shocked -- shocked silent, shocked scared, shocked to the core of my very being, when I read the part about Santa Claus not being real. Not only had the President of the United States been shot in the head, but now, on top of that, you’re telling me: There’s no Santa Claus??? I wanted to get on the school’s loudspeaker system and shout, “Do you know that Santa is nothing but a big, fat fake?” I sat there in a state of utter dismay wondering, Where had I been all these years that I didn’t realize that this fantastical belief in a jolly man in a red suit, who came down the chimney bearing gifts for good children, was just a lie? Santa had always seemed as real to me as…as well…God. I wondered if everyone else in the world already knew that Santa wasn’t real? Did they always know? How could I have been so gullible? How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not known that Ho, Ho, Ho, was just a big hoax?

I remember staring out the classroom window for the rest of that afternoon contemplating the reality that there could be a whole slew of other things I believed to be true that could prove to be outright lies in the near future. That thought terrified me, and I worried, as a child growing up Catholic: What was Christmas going to be like without President Kennedy and without Santa Claus? I, somehow, managed to keep the faith that year, solemnly caroling, “God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day….”

Flash-forward two decades later, to a snowy December afternoon, when I was reading The Night Before Christmas, to my then five-year-old daughter, Shana, and she asked me point blank, “Mommy, is Santa Claus real?”

I wasn’t really prepared to answer that question, but she asked again, as children often do, when they’re probing for truth. I looked into her beautiful, trusting, blue eyes and not wanting to lie to her or deceive her, I answered, “Santa is real, make-believe. Just like when you and Eileen play house, and you’re the mommy and she’s your daughter, you know in real life that’s not true, but when you’re pretending, to the two of you, at that moment, it feels very real.”

“Then when grown-ups tell you that Santa is really real, they’re lying?” My daughter asked.

“No, they’re pretending…playing make believe. They’re having fun, but you mustn’t tell any of your friends that Santa isn’t real. You must promise me that you won’t go blabbing this all over the neighborhood? Your friends have to find out the truth about Santa Claus all on their own.”

My spur of the moment response seemed to satisfy her, and true to her promise, she never rained on anyone’s Santa parade.

Flash-forward three decades later to last Christmas, when a news story came on television debating whether or not it was psychologically healthy for children to be led to believe in the existence of jolly, old St Nick. My grown daughter sadly stated that she would have preferred that I hadn’t told her the truth about Santa Claus when she was five years old… that she would have wanted to go on believing that Kris Kringle really did exist for a little longer. At that moment, I felt like the Grinch that stole Christmas.

So, what is the lesson in this new millennium Christmas Morality Tale? Simply this. When it comes to parenting: Quite often, you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t; but that doesn’t mean we’re not living a wonderful life. I believe that there are still plenty of miracles happening on 34th Street. Now that we’re grown-ups, we just have to look a little harder to find them.

Wishing you and yours, a very Merry Christmas!

Cindi Sansone-Braff, The Romance Whisperer, talks to the dead to show you how to live well and love better. She is the author of Grant Me a Higher Love and Why Good People Can’t Leave Bad Relationships. Be sure to check out her web site at: www.grantmeahigherlove.com. She was named Best Psychic five years in a row by the Long Island Press, recommended by Newsday as one of the best psychic/mediums on Long Island, featured in the Daily News and Cablevision’s Neighborhood Journal. Visit her Facebook Page: Why Good People Can’t Leave Bad Relationships.