Before I had children, I never considered the possibility that I wouldn’t “do Santa.”
My brother and I used to announce our awakeness from the top of the stairs on Christmas morning. My mother would show there in her pajamas a little while later. “Accompany me,” mom would say, wandering into the kitchen to call my dad while assembling a tray with her signature shortbread cookies filled with jam and turning on the lights and coffee machine. My brother and I were convinced that Christmas Day would never come as we sat side by side in our Christmas jammies, waiting for our dad to come over from his place. The desire to see what was beneath the tree was so strong that it was impossible for us to remain motionless throughout the many minutes we had to wait. However, we had to remain.
I no longer see the gifts Santa Claus left for me under the tree when I think about him. Rather, I recall the custom of waiting with my brother on the stairs, both giddy with anticipation and impatiently bouncing. My parents were happy and holding their coffee cups as they watched us get our first looks at the gifts beneath the tree. I remember running down the stairs and passed them. The magic that Santa left behind for me was what made that moment really real. Additionally, it forges a sentimental bond with Santa, and as clinical child psychologist Tori Cordiano notes, my favorable experience increases my likelihood of incorporating Santa into my own family’s traditions—which I do.
To be honest, I never gave it any thought that my spouse and I wouldn’t “do Santa.” I never considered Santa to be a choice, but following the birth of my daughter, I started to have second thoughts. When I would chat with other mothers during those early Decembers, questions about Christmas and Santa would almost always come up: What is your opinion of Santa? Is he the same as telling your children lies? What number of gifts is he bringing? Which gifts is he going to bring? Have you been aware of the “need, want,