The other day, Joey, my youngest boy, lobbed that curve ball at me that so many parents look to with dread and/or relief: he decided he did not believe in Santa Claus, anymore. He didn't inform me directly, however; I suppose he wanted to spare me the disappointment, or something. No, it was his dear older sister, December, who "tattled."
And conniving little thing that she can be, she told me right in front of him, to put him on the spot. So naturally I asked him, "Joey, why do you not believe in Santa Claus, now?" His reply? "If Santa was real, and he was really magic, he would make my eczema go away."
Now, I know what you're thinking. Most of you are probably going, "Awww, poor baby!" and making noises of sympathy. Some of you might be practical about the situation, and say that it's probably time, at nearly ten years old, for him to let go of Santa Claus, anyway. And it may have made some of you feel incredibly awkward, having to decide what to say in such a situation to your own child.
I took a different approach altogether.
Back in August, Travis and I went to Dragon*Con. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Dragon*Con, it's the world's largest convention for all things nerdy and geeky - everything from books and television to comic book artists, cosplayers and more. And while we were there, we attended a panel with several of our favorite authors, including Mercedes Lackey (which gave Travis a huge fanboy moment). The panel was about magic systems in urban fantasy fiction, and one of the things they emphasized was that the magic system of each setting, in order to be believable (and not turn every book into one massive pile of deus ex machina, and thus completely unreadable), had to have certain limitations on its power.
Call me a gigantic nerd, but when Joey gave me his reason, this was the first thing I thought of.
"Joey, magic is complicated. Santa's magic is specifically related to traveling incredibly fast, and squeezing into tight places, like chimneys and the cracks under the doors, so he can deliver presents. He can't do much more than that - it's not how his magic works."
And you know what? It worked. He brightened instantly.
"So Jim really IS real!"
And this, dear readers, is likely where confusion sets in for you.
Years ago, when I first started dating my ex-husband, he introduced me to a friend of his. That same day, I met the friend's stepfather, whose name was Jim. And readers, Jim looked like a very skinny Santa Claus. Beard and all. He was also a Harley-riding badass, and the nicest guy you'll ever meet. He refused every year to play Santa Claus (he was asked by various people, all the time), but he would show up and even dress as an elf, I'm told, and hand out presents.
At the time, my oldest, Leland, was four years old, and still an only child. With Jim's permission, I told Leland that I would introduce him to "the real Santa Claus," whom I had just met, who was actually named Jim. Leland has always been a sharp kid, and he was naturally skeptical. Not that he had any doubts of the existence of Santa Claus, mind you - Santa was most definitely real - but come on. MOM knows SANTA? Nobody KNOWS Santa. That just doesn't happen. But he agreed to come along and see for himself, expressing his doubts the entire way.
When we got to the friend's house, Jim was over for a visit, and waiting out in the yard. I got Leland out of the back seat, led him by the hand across the yard, and said, "Leland, I would like you to meet Jim. Jim, this is Leland." Being the sweet fellow he was, Jim crouched down to be at eye-level with Leland and said hello. There was perhaps a few heartbeats-worth of silence from my eldest spawn, and then he promptly seated himself on Jim's knee and proceeded to tell him that he had been a good boy, and these were all the things he wanted for Christmas.
This story has been repeated over and over, through the years, in the hearing of my younger two children. And though finally, at the age of thirteen, Leland confessed that he no longer believed in Santa Claus (but thought he'd get fewer presents if he mentioned it to me), Leland has been a good sport about it. Every time the story is told, he backs me up - "Yeah. Mom and I met Santa. His name is Jim, he rides a Harley, and he's actually really skinny."
There's no way I'm ever spoiling that story. Hey, how do I know he's not really Santa?
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