Cassandra Barry Large

Cassandra Barry

More Stories About Some Kid

Santa: An American Possibility

Santa, The Easter Bunny and Christmas trees are pretty much the most American things I can think of. It’s just something that almost everybody goes along with. I wasn’t raised Christian. (Despite what my Jewish husband’s family thinks. Why do Jewish people think all white people who aren’t Jewish must be Christian?) But my family went along with the whole Santa thing, even though they’re not Christian. Because this is the culture we live in.

When I was little, I kind of thought it was an amazing coincidence that this really nice dead guy named Jesus happened to have the same birthday as the day that Santa came. Likewise, I thought it was fun that the Easter Bunny came on the same day that something else happened to Jesus. When I found out that Easter was the day was that Jesus rose from the dead, I found that waaaaaay less believable than the whole Easter Bunny thing. And it made me feel sorry for Christians for believing in zombies.

But you don’t have to be Christian to be down with Santa. It’s just American. Most of the kids in most American schools believe in Santa. Do you really want to have the kid who tells all the other kids that Santa isn’t real? That kid’s a dick. Don’t let your kid be that kid. The other kids don’t like that kid. Besides, that kid isn’t going to be very happy, because nobody wants to be different. If all the kids are going with the Santa thing, your kid is going to want to go with it, too.

Believing that there’s a magic person who travels all over the world in one night to give everyone presents is so lovely. I remember thinking as a kid, “Why is Santa so nice?” It made me think a little bit about the idea of just being nice for the sake of niceness. The dude is a model of generosity.

My parents never lied to me about Santa. He was sort of presented as a myth that may or may not be real. Which was basically how they responded to my question about God, when I found out about that dude, too. To give you some idea, my parents were hippies who raised me for my first year on a commune called “The Farm”, where they grew vegetables and marijuana. They presented God as a possibility, something that you could choose to believe in. Which is not dissimilar from the way they presented Santa. They also propagated the possibility of gnomes, brownies, fairies and Puff the Magic Dragon. And I dug it. It was fun. And I chose to believe. Because being a kid is about believing in magic. (Cue bombastic, inspiring, Steven Spielberg movie music.)

I wasn’t traumatized when I found out that Santa wasn’t real. I was ready for it. It made me feel like I was growing up, to know the truth about something so big in the world. It made me feel cool, like I was in the know. And it was fun to be in on a secret with my parents, who trusted me to keep it from my younger siblings. When I hear about kids who were traumatized by the truth, I can’t help but think that they sound kind of like idiots. If you loved Santa and then found out he wasn’t real and you were devastated by it, you’ve got issues. Or maybe you were traumatized because you were flat out lied to. I don’t plan to lie about it. I plan to present it as a possibility. Like the idea of God.