The Christmas Magic is different in Hudson House this year. Santa Claus—so tangible, so present for our little boy—has sublimated into a beautiful idea, a symbol of the joy of giving and receiving, of reaching out in the spirit of love and generosity to all the children of the world. He’s real in our hearts; but he’s not “real” real. Not this year.
I’d hoped to enjoy one more season of writing to Santa, of waiting in giddy anticipation for his, the last, float in the annual parade. One more night of watching Rudolph’s progress on Norad, of setting out milk and cookies, of straining hard for the sounds of sleigh bells. One more magical morning of discovering the special gift, the stocking full of just the right treats, the signs everywhere that Santa had been in our very house—The fireplace ornaments all asunder! Cookies gone! Reindeer paw marks in the snow!
But Sam showed niggling signs of doubt last year (and even the year before), raising all the tough questions about the logistics. I told plausible stories about department store Santa helpers and the like, but the fall back was always the same: it’s Christmas Magic. And that worked for a time. I read an article by a child psychologist just today who says that “Younger children engage in magical thinking: Santa can see children being bad or good; Santa can slide down all those chimneys because, well, he’s magic! At about age seven, however, children begin to be able to distinguish fantasy from reality. They are becoming concrete thinkers, more concerned with right and wrong, with what’s true and what’s a lie.”
Sam’s been flexing that concrete thinking brain for a while now. He often wanders into the kitchen and drops a subject on the table like a stone. A few weeks ago, he asked “So … cannibalism?” My goodness. I had no idea how the concept came across his radar, but he wanted some straight answers. We’ve had lots of talks about the world, about human history, about nature and more. He trusts me when I say there are things he doesn’t need to know yet … but he also trusts that what I do choose to tell him is true. And magic isn’t true. Not “true” true.
In late summer, Sam and I planned an afternoon together at Papanack Zoo. On the way out, he told me stories about the goings on in the Child Care Centre. He mentioned a magician who performed at a special event, noting that it was the same magician who comes every year. “I used to think that the magic was real,” he said. “But now I know it’s a trick. That’s why they call it a ‘magic trick’! And, anyways, it’s still lots of fun to wonder how they do it and to see all the kids who are still amazed and don’t know it’s a trick…” There was my opening.
As we toured the zoo, I turned the idea over and over in my mind. Do I talk about Christmas Magic now, on this bright sunny summer day? Or do I wait until winter and let the conversation take its course when Santa comes up? I decided it would be easier to hear now, when the spirit of the season wasn’t already building. So we sat down at a picnic table in the shade. I reminded Sam of his earlier remarks about how a magic show is still wonderful fun, even if the magic is an illusion. And then we talked about other kinds of magic. “There’s Disney Magic, too — right? The smallest kids at Chip ‘n Dale’s campfire don’t realize that those are giant costumes; but even though you do, it’s still fun to dance with those chipmunks and pose for photos.” Sam agreed and we talked about other ways that the shows, the rides, the decorations, and more all added up to a magical experience … without any real magic.
“There’s also Christmas Magic,” I ventured, trying to keep the sentimental tears out of my voice. “Can you think of some of the things that make Christmas Magic?” Sam didn’t hesitate. He didn’t speak in a questioning tone. It was a statement of fact: “Santa.” I nodded, explaining that thousands of years ago there was a Saint Nick—the patron saint of children and bringer of gifts—and that his story caught the imagination of many and became part of the modern Christmas story. That grown-ups keep the legend of Santa alive as part of the Christmas Magic … until their children are old enough to fully grasp the true meaning of Christmas and so become part of the magic themselves. "It's not a trick," I explained. "It's love."
Seeing the mommy-tears in my eyes, Sam came around the picnic table and climbed up on to my lap for a hug. "I don't feel sad," he said, "but I think I might cry a little." No doubt he saw that this conversation was harder on me than it was on him: he takes his growing up for granted, but it still has the capacity to take my breath away. And so we sat together wordlessly for a while on that warm summer day, watching the zebras, each of us thinking about how different the world seems now.
