Trusting in Santa

Growing up, my parents, like so many other parents the world over, tried to make Christmas special for my brother and I.  Part of the magic of Christmas was Santa Claus.  I think the last thing I truly believed in, or wanted to believe in, was Santa.  Like God, Santa was a tad judgmental for my liking, but overall, he seemed like a jolly piece of magic that made life a little bit better.  Unlike God, Santa did not have a wrathful side.  Santa was God with a carrot and no stick.

My disbelief in God began with the negative parts of the Bible.  I do not think Hell ever made sense to me.  A value probably created by my mother, who believes that all good people, regardless of religion, go to Heaven.  Lots of people talk about this issue with religion.  Someone has never heard of Christianity, or Islam, or whatever religion, and they suffer eternal damnation because their state suppresses religion, or because, through no fault of their own, they are naive?  Is not the whole point of the parable of Eden that innocence (naivety) is sacred?  That knowing evil in itself is a sin?  If someone is being evil through naivety, are they not innocent as they do not know good?

My Mother's big heart and love of all people was, oddly, a credible source of my doubt in God.  Somehow, I feel no resentment that I was forced through communion, or any negative feelings towards those responsible for exposing me to religion.  Pastor Nelson, as I recall, was a kind and patient man, who listened to our questions, gave spiritual answers, and put up with our shenanigans.  I was not old enough to ask him about the issues that most upset me about many religions as an adult, but if he is accepting of adults, as he was of an agnostic in his communion class, then I think he could be counted among the spiritual leaders that I respect.

On the other side though, I actually have some level of resentment regarding Santa Claus.  Not anger, I do not hold it against anyone, as they thought they were doing something fun and magical, but I do admit that I feel some level of frustration, confusion, and shame on the subject.  

First, frustration.  I fancy myself to be a fairly bright guy.  Accordingly, I think I was a pretty bright kid.  So why could I not figure this out?  I was certainly skeptical.  I made hypotheses, and attempted to test them.  I tried to stay up to see Santa, but, like any pseudo-science, the hypothesis is inherently untestable.  Santa, after all, only comes after you are asleep.  Thus, all of my attempted observations failed, and every adult I knew supported the existence of this magic.  I suppose the doubt and skepticism was there, but I wanted to believe, so I could not rationalize these thoughts.  Accordingly, I am frustrated at my childhood self for not behaving more logically.

Second, confusion.  Why did and do all of these people keep suggesting that Santa Claus existed/exists?  Is it for themselves?  Does it actually make childhood better?  For some kids and adults, I think it probably does, but in all honesty, I think my life would have been better without Santa Claus.  I came to that conclusion long ago, but people who earnestly feel that as fun as Santa was, it probably is not worth it are very hard to find.

Third, shame.  I think shame is the natural progression after frustration.  If I am frustrated that it took me so long to figure the Santa thing out, it is only natural that I should feel ashamed, albeit not very ashamed, that others figured it out before me, and knew that I was not as quick as they were in this matter.  Out of shame, confusion, and frustration grows resentment about the experience.

Since these are not defining feelings, they really only come up in discussions about religion, or when spending all night with a new friend talking about life.  While it makes an interesting story, I moved on long ago.  I have occasionally wondered if other people have not moved on, but never enough to actually ask people.  Then, on the 2012 Christmas This American Life, was someone who not only resented the mythology of Santa, but was pretty legitimately angry about it.  It seemed like he calmed down, but the TAL has it that the family is careful about discussing childhood Christmases, and in University the child confronted his parents about it. He cited it as the source of his trust issues, which were interfering with his romantic relationships.  So some people do feel pretty strongly about it.

I Googled a few phrases.  "Santa Resentment," nothing.  "Trust issues resulting from Santa," mostly counselling for trust issues in Santa Monica, or Santa Barbara, or similar locations.  I did find a blog post written by some mothers about talking about coming clean about Santa Claus.

The blog, written by Michele Robert Poche and Melissa Bugaj (though this one seems written primarily by Poche, whose name I will use from this point forward) is interesting in several aspects.  First, that parents seem to genuinely regret their children's natural progression through life.  Not that parents do not want their children to grow up, I think most parents would say that watching their child grow is the biggest reward of parenting.  However, parents seem to go through the all too common pet owner's remorse when the cute puppy, bunny, or kitten grows into a full sized animal with needs and responsibilities.  Are puppies cute?  Yes, but I like dogs better.  Are kittens cute?  Yes, but I like cats better.  I do not understand the draw to rodents, so I do not really have an opinion between bunnies and rabbits, but for consistency, I will claim to prefer rabbits to bunnies.  With people, I prefer adults to children.  Accordingly, I do not understand when parents rue their child growing out of Santa Claus, and into rock climbing (or whatever).  Is Santa fun?  Yes, but rock climbing is year round.

Next, Poche suggests that parents discuss the legend of Santa.  Without intending to offend any Catholics, it seems to me the whole point of saints is the legend, or mythology.  When visiting Montreal, I went to Saint Joseph's Oratory of Mont Royal, and learned about Brother Andre.  Brother Andre was canonized in 2010, in living memory of his death.  His canonization was controversial because his "miracles" were to well or poorly documented, and too recent for many to believe in them.  Without espousing too much heresy, are not all miracles performed by saints largely myth?  The point of faith in saints and miracles is to believe in something more powerful than one's self.  To trust that there is benevolence available to help and comfort in times of difficulty.  Does St. Nick loose that magic if he is not a fat man in a red suit?

The idea of a magical Christmas without Santa Claus stuck with me.  Why do we need reindeer and commercialism to have magic at Christmas?  Why do we, in the words of Poche, dupe children into this belief?  There is a lot of magic, based on myth, religion, or science around the time of the winter solstice.  The observed birth of God incarnate, combined with the spirit of giving embodied by St. Nicholas seems pretty magical.  The Pagan celebration of the return of the sun, with all of the mythology surrounding that seems pretty magical.  The movement of celestial bodies so as to bring about a change of seasons, change the length of the day, and cause/end seasonal affected disorder seems pretty "magical."  Call any of these religion, myth, or science, and it seems like there is magic and celebration in the season.  Is Santa really the source of magic at Christmas?  But I digress in my pursuit of the broader point.

Poche was surprised that her son felt a brief pang of resentment.  He just discovered that for his entire life, everyone he knew had lied to him.  Take an adult, what would that be like now?  To discover that you had been lied to by every one of your loved ones for your entire life.  I think of the Truman Show, or of stories of adults who discover they were adopted.  It seems like this is reason to come unhinged, talk to a therapist, ask big questions about who you are, and slowly adjust to your new reality.  Would it be cause to stop loving your loved ones?  No, but I think resenting the lie would be normal and healthy.

In her son's moment of confusion, Poche rushes in with the most striking aspect of her posted experience with her son.  She asks if they should tell his younger sister?  She asks (using her capitalization), "...if he planned to perpetuate the magic for HIS kids when HE was [sic] a dad"?  Given that she uses the word magic for asking about the future, I can only assume she used the same loaded language for the sister.  How unfair!  Maybe she could have asked, "should we ruin Christmas for your sister"?  Or, "are you going to insist on your children's unhappiness"?  A child cannot help but agree with their parent's point of view when confronted with that.  I apologize to Ms. Poche for using her as an example in this.  I am also sure that every single person who has contributed half a cell to the life of a person will condemn what I am saying as being unfair, that parents have to pass on their values, and have a duty to instill morals in their children.  It goes without saying that unfair tactics such as these are essential tools in the parent's arsenal, and I am not advocating that any parent feel guilt for celebrating Christmas with Santa.  The point is, the child had no choice but to believe in Santa, then had no choice but to say Santa was a net good, without considering a Christmas/solstice celebration that was steeped in other types of magic.

Though I can think of nothing I want less than having a child, I have thought about parenting a lot.  If I were to have a child, I would want to give it the tools that I do not have.  I would want it to be fluent in at least one other language.  I would want it to truly have the opportunity to go to MIT.  These sorts of things translate to money more than anything else.  While the immense cost of having a child is not my reason for not wanting one, it solidly proves that there is no good time in life to have a child.  With this in mind, I realize that Santa Claus is just a small part of this.  

Poche, in addition to not giving her child a fair choice about Santa, is clearly telling her child that he must, in order to be a proper human, have a child.  I grew up with childless role models, which I think made it easier for me to understand my own lack of desire to sire children.  Yet, I remember the "when you have kids," messages I got growing up.  Even into adulthood, well after I started making it clear to the world that I did not want, nor would I ever have children, the attitude continued.  You find someone to marry, then you have children.  Other non-child wanting individuals and couples I have met have encountered this same attitude.  A friend of mine was once told by a friend, "you'll have kids, everyone has kids."

Santa Claus and having children are part of the American myth that children are born into.  I assert that Santa is not about making Christmas magic for children, but for parents.  So many children are told they will have children so often I wonder what percentage of people have children owing to genetic urges, societal pressure, and a reasoned desire to have children.  Children being told they will have children is not important for the child, but for the parent.  It reassures the parent that it is normal and right to have children, and it makes it magical to look forward to grandchildren before the child has grown out of the cute puppy stage.  The magical world is not just related to Santa and future generations, but the American Dream in itself is parent magic.

Children are told that they can be anything they want by not only their parents, but also career councilors and politicians.  If I dreamed big as a child it was probably to be an engineer, astronaut president.  I got my engineering degree, so one third of the dream was realized.  Unfortunately for the astronaut part, those highly coveted positions require a couple of things that I cannot control.  First, there must be political support for the betterment of society, which, in the case of NASA has been steadily declining since it peaked the day of JFK's assassination.  Second, you must be physically perfect, and my deficient eyesight excluded me from the typical astronaut path.  While Mars One may be an option for me, I think my motion sickness might also be an issue.  Lastly, being President of the United States is a little less likely than dreaming of being a lottery winner.  Legally, one must be 35 to be President, but the youngest elected president was 43 (JFK, T. Roosevelt was 42 when McKinley was assassinated).  The oldest was just shy of 70 (Reagan).  This means that the maximum age range is about 35 years, but more realistically 25 years.  Being born in an election year I would actually have to be 36 to run for office, a one year disadvantage, but some Americans have a three year disadvantage when it comes to age.  Regardless, for the 25 or so electable years, there will be a maximum of about 6 presidents.  Based on the US population in 2000 (a crude method), the likelihood of being elected US President is about one in 15 million (1/15,000,000).  The likelihood of winning the big lotteries (Powerball or Mega Millions) is something on the order of 1/175,000,000, an order of magnitude less than that of being elected president, winning a million dollar lottery (Hot Lotto) is about as likely (1/11,000,000).  Basically, a child cannot be anything it wants to be when it grows up, nor will it move up in social class.

This will strike many as a grim way of looking at a child's chances, and it probably is.  The point remains that we tell children these things because it creates magic for the parent.  The child will eventually have to realize that it cannot be anything it wants, and that Santa does not exist.  To those who will argue with me, I do not believe in Santa and I did (and kind of still do) want to be President, but won't be.