The Day I Learned the Truth about Santa

Do you remember the moment you learned the truth about Santa? How you handled it probably depended on your level of affection for the guy. I will never forget the day I learned the truth about Santa.

Fearing the Folklore

Initially, like so many other youngsters, I was not fond of the bearded man in a red suit. I liked the idea of him bringing me presents. And, I was impressed with his ownership of flying reindeer. However, his abilities to “see” me when I was sleeping and when I was good or not were unsettling to me. Neither did I care about his magical ability to go up and down chimneys.

Since we didn’t have a chimney, I thought we were safe from his intrusion. Imagine my horror when I learned he had a “magic” key to open any door he liked!

One Christmas Eve night, when I was four-years-old, a loud thud awakened me. Afraid of the red-suited stranger in my house, I bolted to my parents’ bedroom. Unsuccessful attempts at getting them to investigate were followed by them groggily ordering me back to bed. Clearly, they misjudged my terror for excitement.

Tiptoeing quickly into my older sister’s room, I shut and locked the door behind me. I slid between the covers with great stealth. The thought of waking up my sister conjured up almost as much fear as I had of the Christmas intruder.

Of course, by morning time, my fears flew with the flinging of wrapping paper.

Learning to Love the Legend

As years passed, I resolved the trade-off of getting presents was worth my uneasiness about Santa entering our house while we slept.

Besides, all the movies and books portrayed Santa as jolly and kind. Everyone else seemed to be okay with him. After all, you only leave cookies and milk for people you love. So, eventually, I learned to love Santa.

Every October, I began singing songs about him. We didn’t have an elf toy sitting on a shelf to spy on us. But, I believed the song about Santa watching to see if I was behaving or not. So I tried to remember to be good—especially after Thanksgiving arrived. I wrote him letters and eagerly visited his helper-Santas in multiple stores each Christmas. Santa became dear to my heart.

Then, came fourth grade and devastation struck. With the arrival of December, terrible rumors questioning Santa’s existence had the whole class in a quiet uproar. Whispered opinions darted across the room. One friend said her mama told her, “If you believe in him, he’s real.” That sounded good to me. I believed in and loved Santa.

Learning the Truth about Santa

I chose not to believe my classmate, Stuart Whistlenot. He kept insisting Santa was not real. My friend, Kim and I determined we’d prove him wrong.

The next day, Kim arrived at school upset.

“What is it?” I asked.

She sniffled and said only one word. “Santa.”

My eyes widened as I drew in a breath. “What about him?”

“Mama said you need to ask your mama.”

“Kim, you tell me right now,” I demanded. “He’s real, right?”

Tears welling up in her eyes, she slowly shook her head no. Deeply grieved, we hugged each other and cried.

I was furious at Stuart Whistlenot. Somehow, it all seemed his fault.

What Else is Not True?

Immediately after learning the truth about Santa, other thoughts swirled furiously in my mind. If Santa isn’t real, then what else is not true?

Somehow, I always thought the Easter bunny sounded ridiculous and never quite bought into that. The jig was up about the tooth fairy after she forgot to leave money under my pillow a few times. Those characters were never as important, or as real, to me as Santa.

Here’s the thing. After Kim revealed the truth about Santa, another thought torpedoed to the surface. Is Jesus real?

For the first eight years of my life, people had taught me all about Santa Claus. Adults at school, at church, and pretty much every adult I had ever met talked about Santa, as if he were alive and well. Many of those same people also talked to me about Jesus.

Taking a deep breath, I asked my best friend another question on that awful day at school, “Is Jesus real?”

Tilting her tear-stained cheeks toward the floor, her voice wavered. “I think so…I don’t know.”

Our world, as we knew it, slowly crumbled in confusion.

Something is Missing

I remember Christmas wasn’t quite the same that year. On Christmas morning, I tried to act excited and surprised because I thought it would make my parents happy. Inside, I felt like something was missing.

Something was missing, or rather Someone. Scott Whistlenot had told us the truth about Santa not being real. Perhaps he could’ve been gentler in his presentation. Nonetheless, it forced Kim and me to search for what was real.

The following year we struggled with doubts and questions. But, I am thankful to say, eventually, my friend and I both accepted Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. We accepted Him and His Word as the Truth.

After mourning the death of Santa that first year, my joy returned. I’d like to say it was all because of my relationship with Jesus.

However, that’s not totally being honest. Over the years, my happiness at Christmas time often depended on other things. Many years, even as a young adult, I got caught up in the “magic” of Christmas, the hustle and bustle of special events and gifts.

Thankfully, God patiently worked in my life and He waited for my faith to mature. I gradually drew closer to the meaning of the manger. And my joy focused on God’s true and eternal love.

Then, years later, I got married and became a mom. Unfortunately, I had to learn the hard way, again, the importance of telling the truth about Santa. You can read about that here.

One Last Thing

One last thing before I wrap this post up. I want you to know how much I love and appreciate my parents. They made my childhood fun! Even though they incorporated Santa into Christmas, I remember more emphasis being placed on Jesus. Our Christmas mornings always began with a family devotion before any gifts were opened. My mom always reminded us, in many ways, that Christmas is about Jesus.

I didn’t want this blog post to offend her, so I talked with her about it. She greatly approved of me sharing it.

She said, “Back then, Santa was what everybody did. So we did it, too.”

She and my dad have always been glad and supportive of the decision my husband and I made not to do the Santa bit with our children.

I’d love to hear about your family’s Christmas traditions! What is one of the family traditions you cherish? Have you ever exchanged an old tradition for a new one? Share with us. It can be a serious tradition or a funny one!