The idea of Santa Claus absolutely captivates children who believe in him. He's magical, generous, benevolent, and all-knowing. When I speak to my children about him, they are quick to remind me of all of the uncanny insight Santa seems to have when he writes them letters. Never mind the reality that some day they'll discover it was really their mother who has been in charge of the Santa correspondence, because for now, his ability to know that much about them, as well as their desires, their hopes, and their wishes, is nothing short of miraculous.
When my daughter was five years old, Santa came to visit the kindergarten classes in the school library. When she arrived home after school, she insisted on providing every detail to her mother. Santa was kind and genial and handed out candy canes to all of the students. He waved to all the children and went about his Santa ways, but not all was well. Apparently, "Santa" was an imposter and my five-year-old daughter had proof that she desperately needed her mother to hear.
"What do you mean, 'he wasn't the real Santa?'" Her mother asked, trying to maintain composure.
"Well," my daughter exclaimed as she built her case. "He wasn't tall enough or big enough to be the real Santa. He wasn't even fat!"
"Are you sure he wasn't fat?" Her mother prompted, completely ignoring our five-year-old's arbitrary assessment of his height.
"Yes!" She declared, "he had a pillow under his suit. It wasn't his real belly. And his suit didn't look real either."
"Oh," offered her mother, "well, I'm not sure that's ..."
"And his beard was fake!" She blurted out, cutting across her mother. "It wasn't even a real beard! And when he laughed," she continued, gaining momentum, "he did it wrong! He said 'ho-ha-ho,' and not 'ho-ho-ho!' the way Santa laughs."
"Is that so?" Replied her mother, barely concealing a smirk.
"Yes! And when he laughed, his belly did not move!"
"Really?"
"Yes!" She continued, "and when someone asked him about his reindeer, he said his deer were at The North Pole. The real Santa would have said 'reindeer,' because Santa doesn't have deer! He has reindeer!"
Thinking the story was complete, my wife composed herself for further discussion. She decided to ask if other classmates had also noticed these anomalies. The picture painted by my five-year-old daughter's response was one of her, and a handful of other students who were aware of these inconsistencies, but kept to the back of the group, whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves. They knew the truth. This man was an imposter, and everyone else was being duped!
Still clinging to the notion that she could convince our daughter otherwise, my wife then tried to offer explanations for all of these oddities through suppressed amusement, only to be greeted by the most convincing evidence of all:
"No, Mama." She said, wearing a resolute expression on her face, as though struggling to grasp how her mother was so dismissive of such overwhelming evidence. "He wasn't wearing Santa Shoes. He was wearing boy shoes!" She placed special emphasis on the last two words, nodding as though this settled things. On top of the mountain of previously discussed evidence, the real Santa wears real Santa shoes, and there's simply no other way to see it.
Of course he does.
