* The author of this post is known to Mamamia, but has chosen to remain anonymous.
I don’t tell my kids that the stork brought them or that I found them in a cabbage patch. If our dog died, I wouldn’t tell them that we’d sent him to live with a family in the country. And I don’t tell them that Santa brings them presents at Christmas time.
I’m not going to say that I have never, ever stretched the truth to protect their feelings. But I don’t make up elaborate lies just for fun and string them along for years. That’s why I can’t do the whole Santa thing. It would just feel weird. I respect my kids too much to lie to them like that.
When I was a kid and found out that Santa wasn’t real, it hurt. It was a shock to think that adults could conspire on such a huge scale to trick me.
I always told myself that I wouldn’t lie to my kids about Santa. I thought other people my age would feel the same. But no. I’m pretty much on my own here.
In a country where most people don’t bother going to church, the Santa myth has taken on a kind of sacred status. If anyone dares to tell the truth – like Kitty Flanagan on The Project – they’re howled at as if they’re evil. But they’re just telling the truth.
Other mums sometimes ask me, “How do you stop your children from telling other children at school that Santa isn’t real?” Well, to be honest, that’s not my problem. If you want to lie to your kids, you shouldn’t expect me and my kids to cover for you.