This weekend, my mother called me a skeptic (like it’s a bad thing).  It’s true.  It usually takes some kind of convincing argument or all-out proof to get me to believe something.  We were discussing Santa Claus.  If I’d had my druthers, I probably wouldn’t have done the Santa routine with my son, but, as it is, I haven’t had to make the choice.  Now that he knows there isn’t one (gasp!), I’d asked him what he thought about the whole thing.  He said he didn’t think it was nice to lie to kids, although he doesn’t seem particularly scarred by it.  My mother didn’t like that, and said she wished I’d keep my scepticism to myself – that I was rubbing off on him – and that sometimes we just need to believe and hope in things that may not be real.

I agree that sometimes we all need to hold out hope for something – a new job, a clean bill of health, or a kiss under the mistletoe – no matter how unlikely it may appear to come true.  We wish on our birthday cakes and over railroad tracks.  Some of us pray for divine intervention.  It seems to me that hope, though, is not the real issue.  It’s lying to create a world of fantasy for someone who doesn’t know enough to not trust us.  That bothers me. 

Frankly, I think that kids naturally see wonder and beauty in the world.  They believe in dragons and fairies whether we tell them they’re real or not.  They escape into magic worlds in their own backyards.  They conquer hills and become kings and queens. 

There are a lot of films out this time of year about “saving Christmas”.  Oh no!  Santa’s in trouble because people don’t believe in him anymore!!  I think that’s misleading.  Just because people aren’t sitting on the laps of department store Santas everywhere doesn’t mean that they’re not daydreaming on the subway or marveling at the frost patterns on the window or feeling awed by the little miracles in their lives.  I just can’t believe that Santa stands for all of our hope and wonder in the world.  I see amazing things in the world every single day. 

I probably blew the conversation out of proportion, frankly.  Part of it is that my mom doesn’t understand me very well.  But part of it is true.  There are times when I want to get swept up in the fantasy of something amazing and I talk myself out of it.  Because there’s got to be a catch.  And usually I’m right, but sometimes I wish I could just go along for the ride.