Here Comes Santa Claus...

B.H. (Before Henry) I always thought that if I had kids, I would not perpetuate the lie that a jolly fat man watches you closely and then rewards your good behavior with presents. For some reason, the whole idea of it made me really uncomfortable.

But when I was pregnant I relented a bit, not wanting to deny my child the fun of believing in magic. I mean, we've all seen "Miracle on 34th Street." Who wants their child growing up like the Natalie Wood character?

And now that Henry's actually here, I find myself changing my position yet again. I'm still not totally comfortable lying to my kid, but I think I've found a decent compromise. My current plan is to not shield Henry from the story of Santa, have presents under the tree for him but not say who they're from, and let him come to his own conclusion.

If Henry asks me or his dad who brought the presents, we'll turn it back on him: "Who do you think brought the presents?" If he asks if there really is a Santa, we'll say, "What do you think?" And if he tries to pin us down, we'll respond with something like, "I really like the story -- I don't know if Santa's real but I hope he is!" Tricky, eh?

Okay, so it may be semantics. But somehow I'm more comfortable letting Henry decide for himself rather than ramming it down his throat. Now if only I could get the rest of society to go along with this...