Once upon a time, in a town in the mid South, a little boy got in trouble at Mother's Day Out. It was all innocent enough, and the little boy didn't do anything wrong on purpose. In fact, in his mind and the mind of his parents, he didn't do anything wrong at all. The little boy spoke the truth as he knew it, just as he had been raised to do.
One day on the playground, close to this time of year, he had a conversation with another child about Christmas. It led, inevitably I suppose, to a discussion about one of the central figures of the holiday season, Santa Claus. The little boy simply told his playmate what he learned from his parents when inquiring about the true identity of the bringer of Christmas gifts. He was to say some dozen or so years later "I thought we were all on the same page! I didn't realize it was such a controversial subject".
The little boy's parents had recently explained to him that although Santa Claus was a wonderful concept, and a fun part of the holiday season, he was not an actual person who would appear mysteriously on Christmas Eve atop their house, shimmy down the chimney and deposit presents under the family tree. Nor would he be the one to devour the milk and cookies placed on a pretty tray atop the hearth.
On that fateful day, the little boy shared with his playground companion that his parents were the ones who listened carefully to their son's wishes for which presents he would like to open on Christmas morning, diligently made lists, and did their best to purchase, one by one, each thing on the list...or at least a goodly portion of them. He didn't know how his mother kept the location of the presents a secret until Christmas morning, but he knew that once he was fast asleep on Christmas Eve, his parents quietly removed each lovely gift from its hiding place and lovingly placed them under the tree for him to discover ~ and gleefully rip open ~ on Christmas morning.
Well, this information didn't go over very well with the other child, nor, when she learned of it, with the little boy's teacher. She reproved the little boy for telling his friend that Santa was not the deliverer of presents to all good little boys and girls obediently in their beds fast asleep on Christmas Eve. She told the little boy that lots and lots of children fervently believed in the existence of Santa Claus, and looked forward with great anticipation to his arrival at their homes every December 24th.
Not wishing to upset the other children or his teacher, and ever the diplomat, the little boy pondered this information and what to do next. He trusted his parents' version of events, knowing they would not lie to him about something so very important, but he had also been taught to respect his elders and not contradict people like his teacher. What to do? After much thought, he developed what he believed to be a satisfactory answer to the question regarding the existence or nonexistence of Mr. Claus.
"Um, excuse me?" he said in his sweet, 4 year old voice, raising a tentative hand as the children gathered around the teacher on the carpeted classroom floor, ready for their afternoon story time. "Yes?" she replied somewhat warily, wondering what new revelation the little boy was about to reveal, "What is it, dear?"
"Well," he said confidently, "I've thought about it, and all I can say about Santa Claus is that I'm not sure who takes care of things in your neighborhoods, but at my house it's my parents who put the gifts under the tree." He sat back confident he had not compromised his beliefs and certain he had left room in each child's heart, and that of his teacher, to firmly hold on to their own.
Atta boy!
