My son believes in Santa Claus. I was against it. My parents hadn’t made me believe it, and I wasn’t doing any worse for it. I had a strong argument against Santa Claus: the weight of disappointment would be terrible when the Child discovered the deception. Children must be told the truth, a lie is always paid for one day. I added with another verse: the bearded man is the Trojan horse of overconsumption that unnecessarily fills the cupboards, alienates souls and destroys the planet. (Yes, sometimes I get a little dramatic to convince my interlocutors.) The mother of the Child did not hear it that way. The rest of the world did not hear it that way.
– What, you don’t want your son to believe in Santa Claus ? And the magic of childhood, what do you do with it? ? So you don’t have a heart ?
So I gave in to social pressure and let my son think that an obese old man in a red suit was flying on a sleigh pulled by reindeer to distribute gifts made by elves. In kindergarten, things are going well, everyone is playing along. Even the National Education is getting started, a Santa Claus visits the school. I didn’t want my son to be the sucker who shatters everyone else’s dreams:
– Hey, you guys are big boys, the parents make the gifts, not a casual showman disguised as a grandpa with a fake beard !
Time passes quickly, too quickly, and the Child is now in CP. We know how it goes. A big CM2 who wedges him at recess to swing him:
– Hey minus, you still believe in Santa Claus, you’re really a big baby !
Drama can happen at any time. Every day, I fear that he leaves school and throws himself at me, shouting:
– You bastard, Santa Claus was flan. You lied to me. You ruined my childhood. And I still want a Nintendo Switch as a gift.
I reassure myself by telling myself that part of him already knows the truth. He’s 6 years old. He perfectly distinguishes the real from the imaginary. Kylian Mbappé: real. Spiderman: imaginary. Deep down, he knows that flying reindeer only exist in folklore stories (and under the influence of certain hallucinogenic drugs). He just pretends he doesn’t know. He plays the game. Maybe he doesn’t really want to rush into this world where gifts don’t fall from the sky? I understand. Is it really my role as a parent to tell him the news:
– Sorry darling, in this world, there is no magic, what does exist is misery, violence, climate change and the Gall Knights.
Should he discover for himself that the universe is not an enchanted bubble?
A part of me would like him to live a long time in the wonderful world of early childhood. May my son remain my baby. May he be preserved from the tyranny of reality. But here it is I who believe in Santa Claus.