I imagine this convo someday:
“You really believe there’s some magic guy up in the sky who created the Universe? Do you also believe in Santa Claus?”
The respondent will be one of my children:
I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. I would like to tell you about a real guy named Jesus and what He did for me….
Yep, we’re those people. Santa Claus doesn’t give our children presents, we give each other presents to celebrate the greatest unearned present ever, salvation. Our kids are the all-too-honest little antichrists who send your little Timmy or Terry home crying from Kindergarten, “MOM! Maria said Santa Claus isn’t real.”
I’m not going to lie, it’s awkward. You get around other families any month south of September and hoo boy, you get The Glare, usually from the mom who’s put a load of items on layaway for Santa to bring. “Why in the world would you deprive your kids the joy of Santa?” Some come out and say it, but others say it in their eyes.
Why?
I want that conversation above to be possible.