In addition to all that, we want our kids to have their imagination, believe in something just because they believe in it, as long as it isn't dangerous. We want them to wait to pass over that imaginary line from child-like innocence to the harshness of real life! That invisible line is something that every parent thinks about, but tries not to acknowledge. We bury it deep, take it one-day-a-time. We do this as much, I think, for ourselves as we do for them. When they do pass beyond it, part of us is lost, too.
But the "barrier crossing" can be sweet. It can be something you share. It can be a timeless memory of childhood, if it happens the way it did for me and my daughter, Jessa. It can be something that, when the time comes for her kids, she can tell them and maybe it will lessen the blow a bit.
I remember one day in 1997, just a couple of weeks before Christmas. She was just twelve years old. She wanted to go out and look in some of the stores for Christmas presents. Mitch was just 5 years old at the time. We decided we'd go to one of our favorite places; the craft mall. Now, the craft mall wasn't really a "mall" in the usual sense. It was fairly large store with several aisles, filled with mostly homemade items that were on consignment. There was everything there from Texas chili kits to velvet Elvis portraits. They had homemade puppets and Santas, dishes, clothing of all kinds. You name it, it was here.
As we strolled up and down each aisle, careful not to miss anything, we came upon something that caught her eye. She had a quizzical look on her face and kept staring at it. I don't remember exactly what it was, but she kept looking at it, then at me, back to the item, back to me. I just never made the connection with what was about to happen.
Sweetly, she said, "Daddy, I have a question for you and I want you to tell me the truth." As always, I assured her that I would give her an honest answer. She continued with, "Daddy, I just saw something here that you and mom got me for Christmas last year." And finally, "Is there really a Santa Claus or is that just you and mom giving us all that stuff?"
Now, that is a question that I never wanted to have to answer. I always wanted it to just be her own sort of realization or something. I didn't want to actually have to address it. I wanted to formulate the best answer possible without breaking my little girl's heart. As I struggled to find the right words, I also had to keep Mitch at bay and out of earshot, and still keep my eye on him. He's always been a sharp guy and even at that age, he understood more than I wish he had.
I started by saying, "Well.....". Don't ever start an explanation of this kind with "well!" It immediately turns on the tears. Their's and your's! "Jessa, you have to admit that at Christmastime, something special happens. We feel differently. It's something that you don't experience at any other time during the year." "I know you feel that, too, right?" Then what is that? "That's the Spirit of Santa Claus!" "So you see, he is real for us." "Now, do mom and dad give you the gifts?" "Yes, we do." But we can't supply that magical feeling you get at Christmastime." "I like to think that it's Santa who does that." "So you don't have to stop believing in him." "And it's up to you to keep that spirit alive for Mitch, too." "That's what makes this time of year special."
At first, her tears, and mine, were flowing. It was difficult for me to keep my composure. She wanted so desperately to believe he was a real person. She really didn't want to know, but right there in front of me, at time of no one's choosing, she passed that "barrier".
Even after all these years, knowing the "truth", she holds on to her belief. Christmas has always been special for her and for us. And it still is. She helped create a lifetime of memories for her brother and will now will get the chance to do so with her two kids. And it gives us, as grandparents, a second chance to see the joy in their faces.
With so much to worry about, think about, fear, can we just believe that he's real? Just for that one day? Can we all cross back over that barrier once a year when we didn't know what we do know now? Maybe that's the gift of Christmas. And that day maybe she and I crossed some kind of barrier together.
Merry Christmas.
