Keeping the Faith

My almost-8-year-old had asked his dad earlier this month about Santa Claus. From Kevin's report, it went something like, "Dad, Santa is really you and mom, right?" I'm not sure what Kevin said to him, but my experience with Luke since Kevin told me about his query, has been 100% faith, no doubts; so whatever he said, it worked.

I know the day is coming, but just like his "Mom, what does 'sex' mean?", I am unprepared to handle these questions. I thought I had a little more time to overthink it all.

What I could not have anticipated was a precocious 3-year-old son-of-an-over-the-top-granola pair at The Choo Choo Restaurant tonight point-blank informing my son that "Santa is not real."

My two younger boys were too busy admiring the model trains to notice the conversation, but Luke heard them, and me, not possessing a poker face, reacted in horror. It was Luke who went for the save, saying, "Oh, he must mean the plastic Santa over there by the train."

But did little Malcolm (yep, that's the guilty guy's name), or his mother, leave it at that? NO!

Little Malcolm wanted to make sure we understood what he was saying. He continued, "No, my Mom told me that Santa is not real." I remind you, the kid is 3!

Still off balance, I turn to the mom, begging as only a mom's eyes can beg, to make this right.

But what did she say? In a louder-than-necessary voice, she said, "Oh, Malcolm, not every Mommy has had the conversation with her children about Santa not being real. We'd better talk about not bringing up our little conversation with everyone."

Luke and my eyes filled with tears, for different reasons, of course. I slid back into my booth and pulled myself together. Luke whispered, "What do you think he's talking about?"

Clearly, whatever information he received that brought him to question Kevin on the topic was mixing with this new 411, and from the looks of it, he really wanted to believe. I know that he needs to believe just a little longer.

So I punted, again, and answered, "Oh, you know, it's like in Elf, where not everyone has Christmas Spirit, and Santa needs Christmas Spirit for his sleigh to fly and for the magic to happen next Friday night."

Then the train came into the station with our diner fare, and the topic turned back to Luke accusing me of being an ogre for not letting him and his brothers drink soda.

But there's no erasing what happened tonight. I know Luke is up there, on the top bunk, tossing and turning and worried.

I know not everyone believes, and I know that if you don't, this time of year could get quite annoying. But this was just plain mean. Malcolm and his mom don't just lack Christmas spirit, but a human spirit that keeps us exchanging "Good mornings" to complete strangers, even when our mornings are anything but good.

In my house, we're keeping the faith.