NR ran into the home office this morning and the first words out of his mouth were “You know that Santa is real.” I hugged him and said “Yes, I know.” He looked at me earnestly, saying “Yep, he’s real alright.” Satisfied that he had convinced me, he was ready for his orange juice and cream of wheat.
Kids accept Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and other fantastical beings without skepticism. It’s natural for them to put a tooth under a pillow and find money there the next morning.
But somewhere along the line they start to question, to doubt, to wonder if the things they know to be true are really false. What causes the change? Friends that poke holes in the story? Parents who stop supporting the reality of Santa? The questioning nature that comes with puberty? I don’t know.
For me, Santa is real. I went through an adolescent phase when I didn’t believe, but ever since NR was born, I’ve known the truth. He’s as real as any other idea that we believe in, like good will, helping out those in need, the goodness in giving. Just because we’ve adopted an image from advertising as his icon doesn’t make him any less real. I didn’t lie to NR when I agreed with his statement. Santa is real in our home.
Yep, he’s real alright.