I was 6 when I learned the truth, (no) thanks to an older and wiser 7-year-old in my Sunday school class. "Devastated" does not even begin to describe the depths of my despair and disappointment. I remember sitting on my mother's lap crying through a circular discussion that must have lasted an hour. At the crux of this conversation was my inability to comprehend why my parents lied to me.
Now, as a parent, I feel a duty to Santa responsibly, if at all. The idea of no Santa seems kind of Scrooge-like. I don't want my kid to be that know-it-all 7-year-old shattering the dreams of an innocent 6-year-old. And, 30 years from now, I don't want Miss M to look back and feel like she missed out on an important part of childhood.
But I also don't want my daughter to feel as betrayed as I did that sad Sunday morning.
So where's the middle ground? In my best-laid plans, we would somehow follow Miss M's lead while being careful not to fuel the fantasy. Will Santa come to our house? Probably. But our Christmas won't be one that depends on him ... if I can help it.
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