In which I need to repent of Santa

It's more than that his name is an anagram of Satan, and more than that he just creeps me out. What is it I really have against Santa?

Why don't I just accept that he is part of society? 
Or that he stands for something magical? 
Or that he makes kids happy? 
Or that he isn't evil? 
These are all the questions I field when I say I don't "do" Santa. 

Before I had children I was determined that Santa wouldn't play any part of our family Christmas. 
The nativity would feature, and the children would all understand the relevance of the Christ child to their lives. 
They would most likely receive gifts but I would focus more on their birthdays than Christmas, because Christmas is now more about commercialism and their birthdays are about them.
I would be strong in all these thoughts.
I would, I would.

Cue my first child's second Christmas; she was 16 months old and I failed right away by giving in to the obligatory photo with Santa. In which she is seen screaming, arching her back, tears running down her face and Santa is saying "just one more minute"... And I wondered what I was doing.

Her next Christmas, she was therefore 28 months old and quite aware. She heard again the story of the baby in the manger sent as God's gift to the world.
She had a 7 month old brother and I again gave in to the Santa photo. Because I could send it to people, I told myself. But that was as far as Santa went.
Until every store turned into a battle zone of people asking her what Santa was bringing her. When I said "oh we don't do Santa", they smiled and rephrased their question to "oh what is Father Christmas bringing you?"

She looked totally confused, because we hadn't talked about Santa or Father Christmas. We had talked about some presents under our tree and buying daddy a present, and buying baby brother a present, but not this other story.

She grew. She went to child care very rarely, where she asked why they made beards for a picture of a man and why Santa came to visit. I brushed the man in red off but didn't go so far as to say he was a lie. She was too young to be told the world would lie to her, wasn't she? 
I didn't give Santa the credit for the gifts that arrived under the tree. They just appeared, from us.

Then, before many more Christmases, she started kindergarten. The crafts, songs, pictures, colouring in and stories were all about Santa. And the questions increased. 
By now she also had a younger sister, but her brother was just as inquisitive as she was about the man in the red suit who gave them lollies everywhere they went.
This brother was more persistent, however, and wouldn't accept a brush off as an answer. He wanted to know who this man was? 
So... I couched the story. The world was forcing Santa down their throats faster than I could stop it, and I was dizzy with trying to avoid him. I told them that Santa brought a toy. Not because they were good or anything, just because. 

The next year saw more evidence in their lives of Santa. Because their friends, their kindergarten and child care... And everything, just everything was smothered with Santa. Catalogues came in our letterbox, posters on store windows, cards In the mail and on a throne in the shops, his face was everywhere.

And again... I couched the story. I really didn't want to destroy the wonder of their imagination, after all. But this time I told them that mums and dads agree with Santa before hand what is needed so kids don't just ask for anything, and don't always get everything they ask for.
So then the questions...  when did I meet Santa? Or did I ring him? Or did I write to him? Or was it the one in the shop? If it was, which shop? Because there were three shops with Santa, did I talk to them all or just one? 

On Christmas Day, my son asked why everyone gives everyone presents. He was wondering why 'Santa' brought presents, mum and dad gave him presents and all the relatives gave him presents.
I told him it was in remembrance of God giving us His son Jesus as a baby. That was the greatest gift He could give, and we gave each other gifts to recognise that. That the giving of gifts to each other was a tradition; we couldn't hope to match a gift as valuable as God's but it was just a way of showing we cared.
Phew. I'd missed Santa and got in God, yes. 
*Insert imagined high five.*

Then The Visitor In The House said "yes and Santa brings us presents so we remember what Christmas is all about"
*Insert imagined "what the...?"*

The next year, we had another baby boy in the house. Only someone who has had four children close together on one middle income with a mortgage (signed the week before finding about the fourth baby) can know how tight money is. There was no money. There was only just money for the essentials.

Roll to one year later, when the children are 7, 5.5, 3 and 1. Theres still no extra money, and because I'm determined to be a stay at home mum, there won't be. The five and a half year old has outgrown his bike. We all know it. He decides to ask Santa for a bike. And a DVD.
And that's all.
But there's no money for a bike.
I have to tell him.
He says "I didn't ask for much because you said you talk to Santa about it and he only brings what we need. I need a new bike, this is too small and has got wrecked."
I told him it just couldn't happen, I was really sorry but t just couldn't.
He was persistent.

In the end... I couched the story. I told him that Santa brings the presents after the mums and dads buy them, and we didn't have money to buy one.
This blew his mind.

And I cried when I went to bed, because I couldn't give him a bike and because I had compounded my lie so much and had lied to one of the most precious things in my life.
The next day, I sat he and his older sister down and I told them the facts of Christmas. That there was no Santa, that he was made up. Mum and dad buy the presents and wrap them up.
I expected surprise and maybe sadness.
I got anger. I got tantrums and frustration. And confusion. 
I told them that it was pretend and that their friends might still like to believe in Santa, and we wouldn't spoil that. And that while I didn't want to lie to the little kids... maybe we wouldn't tell them just yet, we'd try to let them enjoy Santa because it was hard to fight it.
And mr 5.5 said "what happens when they don't get what they ask for?"

I have since read something which did resonate with me about why I hated the Santa thing so much. In this the author (and I wish I knew who it was so I could link!!) said something along the lines of the following, which will now become my words.

... we tell our kids about Santa and spend years telling them he's real, only to then tell them he's not. 
He gives them things if they've been good, and visits them in person at their child care centre, kindergarten, department store, street party and parade.
We sit our children on his knee, take photos and let him give them gifts and lollies because he's a nice guy. Everybody says so.
He answers their letters and on Christmas morning, the food left out for him is gone and there are presents under the tree.
Magic.

And the world assures them he is real.


We spend years teaching our children about a God they can't see. We assure them He is real.
He doesn't give them everything they ask for, He gives them what they need. And they receive it through His grace and mercy, not through their works or behaviour.
We go to his house, His church, but we don't see His physical presence, because He isn't here. He's everywhere around us if we only look for Him.
He sent His son to earth. People abused him, tortured and killed him. Then He rose from the dead.
We can read His words in the Bible and we can talk to Him through prayer. If we listen heard enough we can hear Him talk, but those who don't know think that we make it up.

And we assure them He is real.

And after we tell our children that Santa isn't real, that the tooth fairy isn't real and the Easter bunny isn't real, we still tell them about Jesus who is real... Jesus who isn't allowed to be read about or talked about in school or kindergarten, who isn't allowed to be part of their education, who is frowned on by some people of the world and other, namely your kids, are teased for believing in Him. 


And so that, gentle reader, is why I don't like Santa. You may think he's only a white lie or a good lie or a little kid lie, but when I'm faced with the reality of them wondering if God is a white lie too, there is no question about the line I wish i had taken.