"Mommy, what if things we can't see, like Santa Claus and Jesus, are just pretend?"
Yep.
That's the question my darling 4-year-old son asked during our ride home from church a few weeks ago.
And, there I was, head spinning as if Jerry the cartoon mouse had smacked me in the face with a frying pan. Tweety Birds circling my head, and all.
We had just spent the morning teaching our little ones about God's sovereignty, and His place as King of all Kings.
As for Santa, well, he's coming down the chimney in just a few weeks. Right?
That bold question, called out from such a tiny voice, sent our house into a tailspin.
Thinking quickly — Duane, also in the car, was experiencing the same astounded panic that I was — we chose to launch into a diatribe about Jesus long and boring enough to distract Brody from the realization that we had neglected to mention Santa in our hastily devised answer.
Once at home, tucked safely in a corner where we could whisper frantically about our Code Cherry Nose situation, the official 2012 Christmas Freak Out began.
"We have to figure out what we're going to say about this!" I hissed, eyes wide, heart pumping.
"Yeah, I don't think I even thought about that kind of thing until I was 10 years old," my always-calm, never-fazed husband replied. He chuckled, but he looked a little wary, as if a wild animal, renegade elf, or smarty-pants toddler might lurch forward and outmaneuver him.
We debated the answer for days.
Here was an opportunity to drive home the true reason we celebrate Christmas.
But what about the magic of the holidays?
Both Duane and I grew up believing, at least for a little while, about Santa Claus. That didn't stunt our Christian values or make us hate our parents.
But should we lie?
I enlisted the help of friends and family members, who offered their judgment on Santa's future in our home. I read through essays written by ministers, both for and against Saint Nick.
One friend described how her parents told her the truth about Santa Claus right around Brody's age. The truth didn't ruin Christmas. And it didn't mean she couldn't participate in the fun cultural Santa activities, like hanging a stocking or taking a picture with him.
So, it was settled. The next time our son, not even in Kindergarten, questioned us about Santa Claus, we would have to tell him the truth.
I paced. I fought back tears.
The moment came as we spent a family evening together watching a Christmas movie. Brody's eyes lit up every time that jolly old man delivered a new Christmas present. He peppered us with questions.
And I just couldn't do it. I couldn't watch the light in his eyes disappear and never return at the sight of Santa.
I snuck a look of grieving at my husband and silently pled.
"One more year won't hurt," he agreed.
So, the Santa question is not settled in the Paitsel house. And my guess is that although my husband and I will mean to tell our kids the truth about Santa, we will continue to delay the end of their childhood, and some brat at school will get to them first.
Perhaps the answer I've decided to stick with is really no answer at all. But I do take solace in this advice from a fellow Newport News mom, written during a lengthy Facebook discussion on the topic:
"I think that we should all print out these various posts about our angst over whether to (tell the truth) about Santa. Then no matter what you decide, when years down the road our kids tell us that we made the wrong decision, we can show them the pages and say, 'Did my best. Good luck and Godspeed with your own kiddos. Now pass the potatoes, please.'"
Paitsel can be reached at 757-247-4737.
