“Mommy, the internet said Santa is fake,” my eight-year-old child cried over the phone as I drove back from my teenager’s soccer game late last year. Apparently, a quick Google search had yielded the answer: “As adults, we know Santa Claus isn’t real, but many of us remember the disappointing day we discovered this was the case.”
There was no dearth of articles to back up the truth.
We hung up and I cried for the entire half-hour drive home.
I’d always imagined after the initial shock, I’d be relieved hearing that my youngest child no longer believed in Santa. I thought once I got past the melancholy feelings, I’d savor the joy of an easier holiday prep. The “present-hiding closet” in the attic would be mine again, I wouldn’t have to smuggle “North Pole wrapping paper” into the house, and I’d be free of the slip-ups I made every year that almost gave everything away.
