My son was born a seventy-five year old man in a diaper. For this reason, he has never bought into the entire fat man in a red suit swishing down the chimney with a bag of elf-made presents; however, my daughter is a believer and will be until she’s well into adulthood. It’s not that she hasn’t been told the truth, she does live with the old man in footy pajamas, she just refuses to entertain the truth. I can’t blame her, the truth is boring. Besides it’s obviously beyond imagination that FringeMan and I could become jolly enough to buy a trunk load full of presents.
FringeKid lives in a world…
– where reindeer eat magic moss that makes them fly
– where Santa knows exactly what she’d love for Christmas, so she doesn’t even need to write him an item specific letter (No pressure Santa!)
– where loosing a tooth is as big an event as your birthday
– where a jolly, fat fella brings toys to all good girls and boys
I’m more than ok with that. She has the rest of her life to be a cynical adult, but right now she needs to enjoy her childhood for both herself and her brother.
Despite his sister’s Christmas excitement, the best ‘Santa’ story I’ve heard this year came from FringeBoy. With his sister out of earshot, FringeBoy began his story. His voice held the “you’re not gonna believe this silly girl, mom” tone of voice. It seems that a girl in his class still believes in Santa. Imagine that? In the FOURTH grade!
“She believes in Santa” he said, “but she doesn’t believe the elves make toys, because she found a price tag.”
I’d better check for tags this year. I wouldn’t want to leave any red “CLEARANCE” stickers on a box.