Show me a parent who feels uneasy about discussing the birds and the bees with their child, and I’ll show you someone who hasn’t even begun to consider the Santa Claus conversation. Brace yourself: nothing – absolutely nothing – can truly prepare you for that unexpected moment while you’re casually enjoying a sitcom. Honestly, I’ll take discussions about reproduction or even “Heather Has Two Daddies” any day of the week.
“Do you guys actually buy the presents?” This question came from my eldest, a bright-eyed 11-year-old named Jake, who is both adorably innocent and perpetually curious about why certain words are off-limits. After all, he’s in the sixth grade. He clutched his freshly penned Christmas list, looking both excited and anxious.
“Why do you ask?” My partner, Mark, shot me a pleading glance, silently urging me to take the lead. I was caught in a mental tug-of-war. On one hand, Jake’s inquiry seemed to stem from a genuine quest for the truth, but on the other, I couldn’t rule out the possibility of a clever ruse.
Last year, I was convinced he still believed. Friends and family couldn’t fathom that my wide-eyed preteen still wrote letters to Santa without a hint of doubt. Sure, there was chatter on the bus and older siblings influencing the conversation. Yes, his enthusiasm for those cheesy Christmas specials from the ’70s (anyone remember Burger Meister Meister Burger?) was waning. Yet, I held on to the hope that the enchanting image of a jolly man in red visiting him in the night – which started when he was just five – still lingered. I could see in his eyes that he was uncertain if he truly wanted to find out.
Mark cleared his throat, perhaps a bit too deliberately. “What have you heard?” (Classic parental deflection, right?)
As anticipated, it was the older kids on the bus who had spilled the beans. Ugh! What to do next? We had to consider the younger siblings. With three more little ones in the mix, I cherished the magic of childhood innocence. It felt fleeting, and I wasn’t ready for it to end. Plus, could Jake really keep this under wraps from his brothers, whom he still chased around with swords, and from his sister, who was his favorite target for playful torment? This could complicate things.
Sensing our inner turmoil, Jake reminded us that he had stopped believing in the Easter Bunny ages ago (I mean, a bunny? Really?) and still managed to keep that secret from the little ones. He had also received “the other” talk nearly two years back and had kept that to himself. Good point. So why was this so much tougher?
It’s a poignant moment when a door closes on childhood, and it stings. This milestone isn’t marked by pencil lines on a doorframe or captured in photographs, and it doesn’t make our lives easier like other milestones. Sometimes, we can’t wait for them to grow up just a tad more. We look forward to the first time they devour a hot dog in a bun or master swing pumping, allowing us a few moments of respite on a park bench instead of digging in the sand. Some parents might even do a little happy dance when their youngest finally gets toilet trained (okay, maybe that’s just me).
While we dread bigger milestones like learner’s permits and after-prom parties, it’s easy to overlook those smaller moments that impact both our kids and ourselves before the teenage chaos sets in: their first meal off the adult menu that they actually finish; the way their new teeth reshape their faces, gently erasing their baby features; or the moment you realize their legs have grown so much since you last looked. These fleeting instances tug at our hearts, reminding us that time marches on and birthdays keep adding more candles.
“Yes, it’s us,” Mark finally declared. Subtlety clearly isn’t his forte. I might have chosen a gentler approach, but I admired his enthusiasm. The last thing any of us wants is for our child to be ridiculed by a bunch of kids on the school bus.
“And it was me in the Santa suit,” he added, a little too bluntly (Whoa, give the kid a moment to process!).
Jake simply nodded, a matter-of-fact acknowledgment of this newfound truth. He handed me his Christmas list and glanced around cautiously, “Mom, I don’t really need #8 on my list. You can scratch it off.” After another quick check of the surroundings, he winked and whispered, “It’s kind of pricey.”
Well, break my heart! I’ll be darned if that kid doesn’t get #8 this year – maybe he’ll even score two!
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