‘Tis the season to be jolly. I love this time of the year. Perhaps even more than my son. Perhaps. Not sure about that. I want him to experience the joy of receiving gifts small and large. I want him to experience the joy of singing Christmas songs and how you just can’t help but laugh at times.
And, here is the thing about this season. My son still believes in Santa Claus. My niece who is exactly the same age as my son (just two months apart) stopped believing in Santa several years back. Luckily for me, she has not spoiled the Santa secret for my son. My niece didn’t find out on her own. My sister told her the Santa truth. My sister wanted my niece to have realistic expectations. Ouch. I wholeheartedly disagreed. Not the only issue where my sister and I see things very differently. But, I respected her decision and I think she mine.
I don’t want my son to have realistic expectations. I want him to dream. There’s plenty of time as an adult where one has to be realistic and pragmatic. On a side note, as an executive one is supposed to be realistic yet visionary and big thinkers. It can be done. It’s all about context and not everyone gets nuanced plans and situations. But back to Santa Claus. What I just described is adult stuff. I don’t need my son to be that just yet.
In a way, I need him to still believe in Santa Claus because I love whimsy, and imagination, and hope. I need my son to believe in Santa Claus for me. He is still my baby. I want that innocence and rose-colored glasses. Just a tint. He is most assuredly aware of what he has and how not everyone has that. I do tell him how poor and hungry I was as a kid. I was so poor that I knew Santa Claus didn’t exist. But for my son I want one more year. Then we can be a bit more pragmatic. Although, I will always encourage whimsy. Even as an adult.