My son is 10 years old, the age
where Santa Claus rides the cusp of extinction. My boy still wants to believe,
but his common sense keeps overriding his desire. He started off as a toddler
extremely pragmatic about the whole Santa thing. I really had to do my due diligence
in getting him to believe in the jolly guy, which was kind of hard for me
because I don’t lie to my son about things. If he’s going to the doctor to get
a shot, I tell him he’s going to get a shot.
“Is the shot going to hurt?”
“Yes, but you’ll get over it.”
I’m that kind of mom. But I
couldn’t bring myself to tell a four-year-old that all his skepticism was valid
and that Santa is a fake. And six years later, I still wasn’t sure I could. When
he outright asked me in the months leading up to this Christmas, my answer was,
“Do you really want to know?” He decided he didn’t, and I think we both
breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t have to say those awful words – Santa isn’t
real – but it was the first Christmas that he thanked us for the gifts. He
thanked us about three or four times, which is three or four times more than he
does on his birthday, so I think he was still testing us. Did we buy them or was it Santa?
The fact
is, pretty soon Christmas won’t be the same for either of us. Oh sure, we
still open presents, we still have a special meal, we still see family and
friends. The carols are the same, the decorations fill the house, but without
the magic of Santa, Christmas is undoubtedly dimmed. And if my friends with
older children are any indication, this is as much of a blow for us parents as
it is for our children. I kept hearing from them how Christmas just isn’t as
fun when the kids grow up, and how they are having a harder time getting into
the holiday spirit. Heck, I even
found myself nostalgic for Christmases past, and my boy hasn’t even reached his
teen years. It’s inevitable that children will grow up, extended family members
will move on, some will pass on, and Christmas just won’t be the same.
So this
holiday, I decided to be proactive. I didn’t want to wait to feel down about
Christmas because it wasn’t the same as when he was little. I didn’t want to
start buying him super-sized gifts just to compensate for the disappearance of
Santa. And I really didn’t want to go through the motions all the while feeling
the twinges of disappointment that hanging onto traditions can bring when
they’re past being worthwhile. I decided to let our Christmas evolve with us.
We still had our Christmas Eve
traditions: Christmas crowns, Christmas meal, Christmas movies. Our son still
woke us up way too early on Christmas morning so we could start opening gifts.
We spent the remaining morning hours, as we usually do, tinkering with our new
toys and stuffing our faces with warm cinnamon rolls just out of the oven. Then,
very unlike our usual Christmas, we
showered, packed a suitcase, and hopped in the car to spend the rest of the day
in a place that does Christmas best: New York City.
We had purposefully waited until
after dark so we could see the twinkling lights in all their glory. We saw the
tree at Rockefeller Center, the windows at Macy’s, listened to live music in
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and did an early countdown to 2015 in Times Square. In
effect, we gorged on Christmas.
Later that night, we went to
Marchi’s, an intimate, no-menu restaurant run by the same Italian family for the
past 85 years. Over the years, we’ve been there with my husband’s family on a
few special occasions, so it’s a place we hold dear. We dined on five courses for
almost two hours, reminiscing about Christmases past without sadness, and
brainstorming with excitement new things to do for future Christmases.
We still had the next day to enjoy
the city some more, which we did. Of course we snacked on all the NYC favorites:
hot pretzels, Nuts for Nuts, Junior’s cheesecake, and their black and white
cookies. We also managed to fit in The Museum of Natural History, Bryant Park, and
our favorite Greek restaurant.
We all had
such a wonderful time without completely doing away with our Christmas
traditions. It gave us something else to be excited about other than Santa and
his gifts. What was one of the best parts of Christmas Day according to our
son? Getting to stay up late at the hotel and eat a bowl of popcorn in bed
while reading his new book. Take that, Santa!
I’ll still become nostalgic for the
times my son was little, especially at Christmas. But I refuse to become a part
of the ‘Christmas is just for kids’ mindset. Some people hold on to their
traditions so tightly even when it makes them sad to do so because it no longer
feels the same. I want our Christmases to transform with us, so that each one is
special in its own way, even as we all grow older.
It’s ok, Santa, you can go. We can
handle Christmas from here.
