To Believe or Not Believe

Growing up, I did not believe in Santa.

<cue gasps and looks of pity>

It had something to do with my mother not wanting to lie to us, although our apartment in Brooklyn wasn't exactly conducive to chimney travel anyway.

I don't think it scarred me for life, although I suppose I wouldn't know.  I've always vaguely wondered what it would be like to really believe that a fat man in a red suit travelled around in a sled pulled by reindeer and would bring you whatever you asked for.  Knowing that it was our dad doing the shopping, my sisters and I made an attempt to keep our Christmas lists reasonable.  A pony might have made its way on to there once or twice, but we didn't really expect to get one.  I guess we thought it was just good to clear up any doubt in my dad's mind, should a random pony become available.

My little brother, on the other hand, believes in Santa - basically because he can't be trusted not to tell his entire class that Santa isn't real.

Which brings me to my current predicament - what to tell WeeBee.

This is the first year that he has really paid attention to Christmas.  While I didn't believe in Santa, people assume that any kid under the age of 8 or so does.  He's seen Santa decorations and cartoons, but I wasn't sure whether he already thought this was an actual person.  I mean, it's not like every time we watch tv I say, "Ok, WeeBee, we're going to watch Octonauts now, but Captain Barnacles isn't a real polar bear."  Once you start that, where does it end?  At a certain point you have to just hope your kid has some sort of grasp on reality.  I kind of doubt he'd never trust me again if I told him Santa was real, but I also don't buy into the idea that telling him Santa isn't real will ruin the wonder and magic of Christmas.  I was probably more in awe of my dad getting everything on my Christmas list than I would have been of Santa and his elvish posse getting the job done.  I mean, it's Santa's job.  The guy has nothing better to do for 363 days a year, and money is no object.

Too bad my dad never had a sleigh with reindeer, though.  That would have been cool.

Anyway, I figured I'd just treat Santa like a character in a story, and go from there.  So, I tried to explain the story of Saint Nicholas.  Apparently I did a pretty bad job, because WeeBee's version was that Saint Nicholas brought toys to poor children whose mommies and daddies didn't have money for toys, but it was ok that WeeBee's Mommy and Daddy didn't have any money because Santa would bring him toys.  Totally not where I was going with that.

Which lead us to the following conversation:

Mommy:  So on Christmas Eve, Daddy and I will take the presents and put them under the Christmas tree, and they'll be there when you wake up in the morning!
WeeBee:  NO!  NO, MOMMY, NO!  (Jumps up and down and waves arms) SANTA WILL PUT THE PRESENTS THERE!  SANTA WILL DO IT!  I WANT SANTA TO!
Mommy:  Umm...yeah...fine...ok, ok!

That totally caught me off guard.  All along he's been fine with the idea of Mommy and Daddy getting him presents.  He knows, for instance, that Daddy is going to try to get him a toy helicopter for Christmas, and that Mommy is going to try to make him an Octonauts toy.  Somewhere along the line, Santa became a glorified UPS driver or something.

I tried bringing it up again today, and things got even more muddled.

Mommy:  So...Mommy and Daddy are getting you presents for Christmas, but you want Santa to put them under the tree?
WeeBee:  Nooo, Santa is going to bring me presents!  He makes presents!  Santa has a workshop, Mommy!
Mommy:  What?
WeeBee:  Santa has a workshop, and he makes presents!
Mommy:  Well...it's kind of just a story...but...well...since when do you know Santa has a workshop?

You try looking into the eyes of an overly excited three year old and tell him there is no Santa.  I'm pretty jaded, but even I couldn't do it.

So now, as best as I can understand it, he is trying to cover all his bases, and get presents from Mommy, Daddy, and Santa, all of which are being delivered by Santa.

He also wants me to make a chimney out of cardboard and glue it to our house.  I tried to explain that wasn't quite how that worked either, but you can imagine how that went.

And this, my friends, is where I wash my hands of this entire situation.  I tried.  When he's eight and comes home from school in tears because Junior said there is no Santa, I can tell him I told him that five years ago, but he wouldn't believe me.  I am so not getting blamed for this.

At least we agree that Christmas is Baby Jesus' birthday.