I saw something a bit troubling last week, something that shouldn’t have been surprising but made me sad nonetheless. My daughter was walking down the hall and bumped into a shelf, something by itself not surprising for a child that rarely seems to be watching where she is going, but significant for her reaction upon knocking our resident elf off of his perch. She reached down, picked him up, and placed him back upon his seat.
As I’m sure you are all aware, this is a big no-no. Touching one of Santa’s elves steals his magic, leading to a big production involving a circle of cinnamon, some chanting, and if I’m not mistaken a blood sacrifice.
There is a good chance that I am actually mistaken about that last part but the good news is that none of this was necessary. I hadn’t noticed but before picking up our little friend Reeses she had pulled a napkin out of her pocket and used that to provide a barrier between her hands and his skin. I don’t know why she had it in her pocket, honestly can’t understand why she still believes in all of this nonsense, and couldn’t be happier that she still does.
Whether or not she really does or is just messing with me is hard to say. Most of the things that she wanted this year are just based on her determination to give me anxiety. She wants a hoverboard, a new and improved scooter, a narrower skateboard. Additional money taken out every pay period to my Health Savings Account isn’t on the list but may as well be. When reminded that things like a Virtual Reality headset and a personal jet pack are pretty expensive she is quick to remind me that Santa doesn’t buy the presents, he has his elves make them. It’s a hard argument to refute, even if she is a bit insane to think that if anybody in this house is going to get their own jet pack that it would be her.
It seems like I write this every year, but if she really does still believe this has to be the last Christmas that she will, right? She’ll be ten before we know it and already knows more about life than I did at that age. We’ve had the period talk, her best friend has had the sex talk with her mom, they all talk. It’s only a matter of time before the secret is out. According to the Exter Santa Survey, it seems that most kids stop believing at age five and only admit it to their parents at age eight or nine.
It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve been played the fool, probably won’t be the last either. I try and pretend that I’m a cynic but the truth is that is just another example of how self-delusional I can be. There’s been a lot of truth that I’ve refused to acknowledge, a lot of things that in retrospect I can’t understand how I believed. I spend a lot of time on the internet arguing with people who don’t seem to want to believe in facts and science but very little time actually changing anybody’s minds.
I try to believe that most people are good but find the evidence contradictory. I understand that others would cite me as proof of the same and am not always sure how to reconcile that. Is the answer to simply double down, to keep on believing whatever you want, regardless of how much sense that makes?
Probably not but I find myself hoping that’s exactly what my kid is doing. I also hope that it’s not a habit that sticks with her.
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Previously Published on thirstydaddy.com
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