When Christmas Magic Died: Why I Told My Kids Santa Isn't Real



I’m snug in my bed with a tummy full of butter cookies and frosting. It's Christmas Eve, and I cannot fall asleep. All I can think about is Santa coming soon. I crane my ears towards the rooftop of my house, listening intently for sleigh bells or hooves of reindeer.

I imagine him flying through the sky with Rudolph leading the charge. I think about the giant sack of gifts behind Santa and what could be inside for me. Every year so far, Santa has brought me a gift, and usually it’s my very best one.

I begin to think about how many times I didn't clean my room properly or snuck an extra cookie and ran around the corner to eat it. But mostly I have been mean to my brother and aggravated my mother with ruckus while we fought and chased each other around. All year, I heard my mother threaten that Santa would only give me a lump of coal for all of my naughtiness. I thought my brother definitely deserved a lump of coal.

I didn't want coal. I wanted a special toy instead, so I straightened up my behavior quickly. I could feel Santa watching me and my every move all year long. There wasn't a day that passed that I didn't think about Santa Claus and being good enough to get a gift rather a lump of coal. All my mother had to say was, “Santa is watching,” and I became immediately obedient.

Santa was magical and could be everywhere all at once. He knew everything about every child on earth. He knew when I was sleeping, he knew when I was awake. He knew if I have been bad or good. He was my judge, the one who had the right to convict me of bad behavior and put me on the naughty list. When I made a mistake and did something bad, I begged Santa to forgive me and tried my hardest to outweigh the naughty things I did with good things for Santa to see.

I think about the cookies we left Santa and hope he will love how I painted them for him. We have a cookie cutter of Santa’s face, and I made sure to paint that one very special and leave it in the center of the plate. I remember my dad looking up the chimney before I went to bed and saying, “Harriet, do you think Santa will fit down our chimney? I hope he didn't get too chubby this year and he doesn’t get stuck.” What if Santa is stuck and all the other children won't get their presents?

My favorite thing about Christmas Eve was staying up late watching the Christmas special. I watched “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and loved every minute. I loved seeing Santa and Mrs. Claus at the North Pole making toys with the elves and reading through all the children's letters. I felt sad when all the reindeer, and even Santa, made fun of Rudolph and his big red nose. Rudolph had something special about him, and he was different than the others.

But the moment Santa was in trouble with bad weather and remembered Rudolph had a shining nose, I felt a wondrous awe. Finally Rudolph would get a chance to show everyone how special he was! He saved Christmas because he could light the way. He was a hero, and all the other reindeer and even Santa finally celebrated him.

I have Rudolph on my mind when I eventually drift to sleep, wishing I could pet him and maybe even ride on his back.

When I wake very early, it is still dark. I run downstairs to see if I can catch a glimpse of Santa. The Christmas tree lights are on, and I see tons of new presents under the tree. I run past the half-eaten cookies and see a giant box with bright red wrapping, hoping it’s for me. I look at the stockings hanging over the fireplace and see them stuffed full of candy and small gifts.

My parents and brother come downstairs, and I yell, “Santa came! He brought all these presents! Which one is mine?!”

My brother comes over and starts reading all the labels and picking up boxes and shaking them. “This one is mine!” he yells excitedly.

What if I only got coal? I look over at my stocking but see that it is full. I keep searching through the boxes and presents, and finally I find one with my name on it.

“I got one too! Santa brought me something! See, Mom, I didn't get coal!! I was good this year!”

Now my Christmas is complete. I don't even care what I got. I’m just relieved that Santa brought me something and thought I was a good girl. I remember how hard I tried and resisted so many naughty moments, and it all paid off.

 Sticky Lips Sink Ships

 The following year, in the beginning of December right around my brother’s birthday, we’re sitting in the waiting room of my ballet school. My brother casually looks over at me with sticky lips from the candy cane he’s eating. He says, “You know, Santa isn't real. He’s someone parents make up to make kids act good.”

At first I don't believe him, but then I look at my mother’s face. She immediately looks at my brother with complete disappointment, and I can tell by the way she is looking at him, they know something together. They have a secret. It’s like they have both known this for a while, but because I’m just a little kid, they hid it from me. I’m crushed. But in that moment, I don't want my brother to know. I don't want to be that stupid little kid that believes in Santa Claus.

My parents lied to me! I was told that if I lied, I would get a lump of coal from a Santa that didn't exist. I felt so betrayed. How could they pretend all these years? And eat the cookies and write “from Santa” on all my gifts? All the kids at school believe in Santa. So all the parents lie? I suddenly feel ashamed that I believed this crazy story about Santa. I don't ever want to admit that I truly believed.

Ballet class that day is difficult. I have a lump in my throat all class that burns. It burns with anger, betrayal, and sadness. I lost someone close to me, who could see me all year and knew everything about me. I used to talk to Santa and felt so proud of myself when I resisted being naughty just for Santa to see. I suddenly feel completely alone. The wonder of Christmas has left me.

The next time I felt the same wonder and magical feeling of possibilities was when I read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Aslan felt like Santa. Narnia felt like the North Pole. I fell in love with Aslan and wished so badly that I could be Lucy and ride on his back and be his friend. I imagined how soft his mane was and how gentle his eyes.

Aslan just knew everything and everyone. He even knew what was in their hearts. When Aslan was tied to the stone table and his hair shaved, I cried with all my soul. When he was killed by the white witch, I was utterly devastated. I cried so deep and felt such incredible loss, I could hardly read further. The words on the page became too blurry to read.

As I dried my tears and turned the pages and continued to read, I cried again and again as I read how he came back to life through “deeper magic before the dawn of time.” Aslan is alive! And he is stronger than ever and ready to save Narnia.

For years after, I began to imagine Aslan with me throughout the day. I could almost see him pass through the forest as I walked to school. Or out of the corner of my eye, I would get a glimpse of him on the playground. I found myself talking to him in my heart. I wanted to be good for Aslan like I had for Santa years before. I knew Aslan wasn't real, but I still talked to him. 

 My Real-Life Aslan

When I was 15 years old, I profoundly and magically met God. The feeling of knowing Aslan came back to me. This time, it was different. The notion of God is supposed to be real. God is not a story or a character parents make up to get kids to behave. Jesus lived and was born in a manger for real by a woman named Mary. He had friends and disciples that followed him. And like Aslan, he was killed and came back to life and reappeared to his friends, and now I knew him and knew he was still living.

My encounter with God was profound and undeniable. I became a whole new person and couldn't explain with words what happened to my heart. I couldn't explain the joy I felt. But something deep inside of me came to spoil my wonder. Doubt and unbelief rose up and began to speak: “God doesn’t exist. You have imagined everything. God is not there for you. You are so stupid and gullible to believe this is real.”

I vacillated from extreme emotions of joy, peace, and a presence of love and acceptance, to a feeling of guilt and not being good enough, thinking about all my mistakes and how I fell short of how I should act. Then I began to doubt God was real. In the times of doubt, I felt shame that I even considered not believing after everything God had done for me. Then I would cry out to God to show me he was real. Then His presence would return. I cycled through this mess for years.

Finally, when I was 30 and pregnant with Dalia, and Dafni and Dimitra were old enough to enjoy Christmas, I began to really struggle. I couldn't bear to lie to them about Santa. Other adults would ask the children if they had sat on Santa’s lap yet, and I would cringe and feel awkward. I never wanted to talk about Santa.

Then, just before Christmas, as I stared at a plate of cookies, I connected all the dots and understood for the first time why I was so disappointed when I found out Santa wasn’t real. I understood why I was so appalled by the idea of telling my own kids about Santa and why I hated even talking about him. He wasn’t just a fictional idea to me as a kid. Santa was my God!

As a child, I believed in someone I couldn't see and never met but only saw his image and heard stories about him. He was all-knowing and omnipresent. In the form of cookies, I gave him an offering. I prayed to Santa and wanted to live up to be good enough to deserve his love and gifts. But then, I found out he was nothing but a lie. He wasn't real. He never existed. This was a devastation to my tiny soul.

I still lived in the fear that I would find out that God wasn't real and never existed. But Santa never talked back to me. Santa never visited me with his presence of love and peace. Santa didn't give me wisdom or tell me which way to go. I didn't see signs and serendipitous moments where I knew Santa was present and talking to me. But God did all of this for me.

 Anchored in Truth

God was much different. Jesus really existed, and his life is not a story but a documentary. As the years went by, I learned more and more about God, and yet there was so much more to know and discover. He gives me dreams at night and speaks to my heart about my destiny. He stands in my future and calls me to it. Unlike Santa, he has never left me, or held himself back from me, or betrayed me. The very best part is I don't have to work for it or deserve His love. He IS love, so He just loves me. No matter what I have done, His love for me is forever.

This was a turning point for me, when doubt and shame left me for good along with Santa and Rudolph. I realized that the fear of God leaving me was attached to me needing to be good enough. I realized that God loves me and accepts me no matter how I act or the mistakes I make. God doesn’t care if I am good enough.

The more I focused on NOT being naughty, the harder it was to not make mistakes. Once my doubt, guilt, and shame left me, I could safely feel confident in God and was able to trust Him more.

I looked at my beautiful children and their pure hearts, and I wanted them to know God instead of Santa at this young age. I didn't want to lie to them. I didn't want them to one day realize Santa wasn't real and therefore wonder if God was real. I didn't want my children to live a life hoping they were good enough. I wanted them to know the truth and live in the assurance of God’s unchanging love.

Did you believe in Santa as a kid? When did you find out he wasn’t real?

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