Santagate
“If Santa isn’t real, what else have you lied to me about? The Easter Bunny? What about the Tooth Fairy?”
These were the words that ten-year-old me screamed at my parents in the middle of the meat section of a H-E-B. For clarification, H-E-B is kind of like the Hy-Vee of Texas, except better in every conceivable way possible. For some background, I learned a bit later than others about Santa Claus not being real. For years, I blindly believed that Santa was real, even when my peers around me were being told the truth about his existence. Only when I began to snoop around during Christmastime, searching for any presents that my parents hid from me, did I begin to question the story my parents told me about Santa. However, my parents continued to perpetuate the Great Santa Hoax, and I would continue to buy into it.
Can I really be blamed for believing in Santa for so long, though? Think about all of the tools that parents have at their disposal for tricking their children into thinking Santa is real. One of those tools is the NORAD Santa Tracker! NORAD? The North American Aerospace Defense Command? I’m glad to see my tax dollars are going to productive things… like lying to children! Every year, I used to call the NORAD Santa Tracker and ask when Santa would be making it to wherever I lived. There are so many other options at a parent’s disposal to further this hoax, so many people are out there that are able to facilitate fake videos, phone calls… you name it – they got it. My Mom made use of both phone calls and videos to trick me.
When I was roughly five years old, my Mom called me into the kitchen, saying that she had something for me. I was shocked when I came outside to find a video from Santa in the middle of summer! I had never even considered that Santa COULD exist in the summertime. Much like any five-year-old who may or may not have developed object permanence a little later than others, I figured Santa dissipated into nothingness after Christmas. Now, this was a good video. This charlatan, who called himself Santa, took personalized video requests. He knew my name, what I wanted, and I’ve never quite pieced together how he actually got a live reindeer in the video, but somehow he did it. All of these things, these tools are created by those doing the fictional jolly fat man’s bidding and used by parents in order to further perpetuate this lie.
Back then, though, I never questioned it. I lacked any sense of skepticism in order to critically think about the story that my parents had continuously told me. I was the kind of kid who believed grown-ups automatically knew everything about the world and would never lie about anything so big. If an adult had told me that the sky was green, I’d likely have looked up and started to analyze for shades of shamrock. Santa was just one of the things I never questioned.
Still, as I got older, small cracks started to form in the foundations of my belief in the jolly fat man. When I was in about the 3rd or 4th grade, classmates would tell me that they found out Santa wasn’t real. Being a child of the internet, I would often see things online about Santa not being real. I also developed a habit of snooping about when the holiday season rolled around. Sometimes on Christmas day, things would be labelled “From Santa” that I definitely knew didn’t come from Santa. I refused to believe what I had seen with my own eyes. Why? Because I don’t think that I could’ve believed that my parents had lied to me.
This brings us back to the fateful day that I learned the truth. I was 10, and as much like every 10-year-old does, I believed that I knew everything that I needed to know for the rest of my life. I walked around with the stride of someone so confident in themselves that you would look at them and say, “Who does he think he is?” Yes, I was a brat who did not get spanked enough. It was the weekend, I believe it was a Sunday because that was typically the day we would go grocery shopping. While we were in the car driving, I saw a man in another car that looked exactly like what you picture Santa would look like – bushy white beard, on the bigger side, no hair atop his head, and to top it all off, one of those swaying Hawaiian girls on the dashboard. Classic Santa. I only remember that I said something about it, and then one of my parents passingly commented about Santa not being real. I began immediately seething with anger, white foam frothing from my mouth like a rabid dog about to strike. Fury was the only thing I knew, and for a while, I tried to hold it down, but like any powder keg that has been lit, I was going to blow.
I walked into H-E-B with my parents by my side, but I wouldn’t dare look at them for my entire world was crashing around me. How could they do this? They had spent my entire life telling me not to lie, then they revealed they had been lying to me my entire life! I had been betrayed to the highest degree! These Benedict Arnolds were now my sworn enemies. Traitors, liars, I hated them for this! From my parents, of all people, the woman who carried me in her womb and the man who raised me, I would not let this treason stand!
We were walking around the frozen meat aisle section, my Dad was looking around for… well… frozen meat. Finally, all of these pent-up emotions seemed to burst through the seams of my carefully knitted childish ego.
“If Santa isn’t real, what else have you lied to me about? The Easter Bunny?! What about the Tooth Fairy?!”
And there it was… the outburst. My parents just stood there for a second, shocked at the rage-filled screams of a ten-year-old boy. I vividly recall the glances that my Mom and Dad shot each other as they tried to telepathically debate which one of them would deal with this conversation. Seemingly, it was my Mom who lost that argument as she tried to console me. My Mom, as amazing a woman as she is, couldn’t seem to calm me down as I continually interrogated them about the lies they had spoon-fed me my entire life.
Thankfully, this youthful lust for justice didn’t last long. My Aunt and Uncle didn’t live far from us, and we would go over there quite often. I was pretty close with my Uncle and would often go to him for guidance, so naturally, I filled him in on what had happened during that particular grocery store run. Uncle Hug explained it in a way that I could understand:
“Parents want to make sure that their kids can have fun and use their imaginations, so if that means lying a little bit about what happens around the holidays, where is the harm in that? It might suck, sure, but didn’t you have fun up until now?”
Uncle Hug went on to explain that just because Santa isn’t real doesn’t mean that my parents are liars or anything like that – they just wanted to make sure that Christmas would have an extra sort of magic about it while I was growing up. Which, to a degree, I do appreciate. There is some sort of magic about wondering how a jolly fat man makes his way down way too small chimneys and delivers presents to roughly 2.3 billion kids within a 24-hour time span.
Thinking about it today, I don’t know if I want to continue my parents’ tradition, which was likely their parents’ tradition before them, and so on and so forth. To put it simply: I want my kids to think for themselves. In today’s world, you’ll see too many people believing whatever a news channel, website, media pundit, or politician says to them. People today are so brain-rotted into simply accepting what they are told, whether it be a headline, a clip on TikTok, or a post on Instagram. People no longer think for themselves and, instead, let others do the thinking for them, even if the evidence to prove the contrary is right in front of their faces. That being said, I want my child(ren) to think for themselves while also not being a depressing force on them. Because if you had a Dad who was telling you about how society is manufacturing your consent to believe that Santa is real, then I can’t imagine you had a very fun childhood.
I saw something recently that I really enjoyed, it was from Neil deGrasse Tyson, and he was explaining how he handled the Tooth Fairy with his kid. His daughter lost a tooth, and he told her, “I heard that if you place your tooth underneath your pillow at night, then the Tooth Fairy will come by and give you money for it.” Notice what he said. He “heard” that if you place your tooth underneath the pillow, then the Tooth Fairy will come. There were no absolutes there; it was simple and vague while also not doing away with any of the magic that comes with being a child. But hold on, it gets better. The story continues as Tyson’s daughter loses a couple more teeth. She began to put traps in her room to see if she’d wake up whenever the Tooth Fairy came, but she didn’t. So, she and her friends at school organized, and when the next one of the group lost a tooth, they all agreed to not tell their parents to see if the Tooth Fairy would know or not. Well, one of her friends lost a tooth, and they stayed true to their word and didn’t tell their parents. Lo and behold, the Tooth Fairy didn’t visit, and her friend didn’t receive any money.
This story allows for the child to actually come to their own conclusions while also not taking the child-like wonder away from them. It grants permission to the child to be skeptical about what they’re being told, and skepticism is always a good thing to have.
If there’s one thing that I wish to impart from this story, it’s to never stop asking questions. I didn’t ask enough questions. I believed in Santa even when the proof was right in front of my face. Asking questions is healthy, and we have to encourage children to do so as well. When I was younger, I believed what I was told and didn’t question it. I held onto my beliefs even when I saw things that disproved them. Looking back, I want to laugh at the little kid in the middle of H-E-B screaming about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. He was finally beginning to ask the questions that he’d neglected to ask for so long. Today, I finally recognize what he was truly mad about: not the lie itself, but that he never asked these questions to begin with.