A Lump of Coal in My Sock, Please!

I am, most probably, weird.

I try to be open-minded and tolerant, but I'll admit that I've got a hard time with bigotry and pettiness (oh, and with stupidity, but that’ll be for another post).

When I read a story about a teacher who’d told a whole class of children (in late November or early December!) that Santa doesn’t exist, I was saddened and shocked. [See: http://www.LoHud.com/article/20111202/NEWS03/112020353/Teacher-Scrooge-Nanuet-second-graders-reportedly-told-there-s-no-Santa]

Yet… I was in for a bigger surprise when I mentioned this at work. On about fifteen people, only two agreed with me and found that the teacher went too far.

Now… I’m an adult, and I know that Santa doesn’t exist, that it’s a tradition and a healthy dose of marketing, but in my mind it’s… childhood, dreams, fantasy, innocence.

Is this world, our dear blue ball, such a great place that we can afford to crush our children’s dreams right after nursery school? No. No, it’s not. Life’s tough and nasty, and for some children, it’s nasty from the start.

I’m probably silly, but it breaks my heart to see adults so uncaring and bloody cold.

I’ve read quite a few heartless comments, which boil down to ‘since it’s a lie, it’s bad, and it’s best for the kids to know the truth as soon as possible; and the best would be to not tell them about Santa at all’. Blimey! Why not send them to the mine and tell them they’ll never make any of their dreams come true!

I vaguely remember reading articles that said that imagination and stories are important if we want children to develop in good conditions.

I reckon that I was shocked when I heard someone say that at that age it was high time that they were told the truth. I beg your pardon?!

All right, besides that ‘it’s a lie’ thingy, there’s, as well, the fact that a teacher did something that was against most of the parents’ will. When it comes to education, I’m all for sharing a maximum of knowledge with children (be it the danger of drugs or a complete and accurate lesson about Sex Education), and that’s where the ‘I’ve got to be weird’ comes back because I don’t understand that need to kill Santa.

At work, I tried to make a parallel about the angry parents using religion, saying that it was like telling a Buddhist that Buddha was a lie – for whatever reason. That didn’t go too well, and I got a ‘it’s not the same’. Okay, so parents can tell their children whatever they want about any religion, even a funky one (we've got a few of those around), and that’s all right, but allowing one’s own children to dream and believe for a few, bleeding brief years that there are bits of magic in our lives, it’s terrible.

Oh… All right. Sorry. My bad.

I may be biased because I remember how I felt when I was told (courtesy of a relative who thought it was high time I should know). It was before Easter, and I cried the seven seas all afternoon (all right, I’ve always had a very vivid imagination, and this was the first huge dream that my relatives slaughtered on the altar of their logic). The relative understood what kind of terrible mistake had been made (my mother wasn’t in on the truth-telling thingy), and that person attempted to bribe me with some Easter chocolate that had already been bought.

Of course I stopped crying. Of course I know it’s all a lie now.

Of course the little girl I remember, deep down in my heart, hasn’t forgotten how it bloody hurt to be told the truth.

Some children will understand all by themselves at four, while others will still believe at twelve. So what?!

This feels like some people wanting to control others, from what they think to how they live. What’s the harm in having children (even slightly older ones!) believing in Santa? They’re not worshipping Hitler, for Merlin’s sake!

We sexualize our children at younger and younger ages (toddlers & tiaras, anyone?), but it’s okay to kill their dreams?

All right, you know what? I’m weird, and I’m proud to be weird the way I’m weird, but even if I have to spin a lie so that a child doesn’t cry, I will, and I’ll give an Oscar-worthy performance, and if some people find me barmy, I don’t care.

I refuse to be a dream-killer.

Some truths can wait for a few years.

By the time I post this, we should be December, Tuesday, 6^th. In honour of my Germanic great-grandmother, I wish you all a happy St Nicholas’s Day! May you all get oranges in your socks!