Over the past few days, I have been reading some posts from my Facebook friends who condemn the thought that parents have their children believing that there is a fictional person named “Santa Claus”. They claim that having their children believing in Santa Claus is lying to their children which is, frankly, wrong. I disagree.
When I was growing up in the 1960’s, my parents told me that Santa Claus existed. He would come to our house each year and go down the chimney. However, because of the way our homes were built, he wasn’t able to bring his sleigh so he arrived by helicopter. For a few years, I honestly believed that Santa arrived by helicopter. Then one day, I found my Christmas gifts hidden in a closet. I confronted my parents and it was then that they told me that Santa Claus wasn’t real. Did I get angry? No. Was I disappointed? No. Because Santa was important to me. He represented a human being who had unconditional love for all the children around the world. They might have said that he saw if you were “naughty or nice”, but here was a man who went to EVERY child’s home on Christmas.. Even when I learned that Santa didn’t exist, I still appreciated the experience of the years when I really believed that someone on the Earth was capable of unconditional love and visited every child on Christmas. So for those who say parents shouldn’t have their children believe in Santa because they are lying to them, I say, bull. My belief in Santa helped me to believe that universal love existed in this world, and even when I learned that Santa didn’t exist, the message about universal love continued. As I play my Goodyear Christmas Album from 1967 in my SUV, I think back on Santa, the Christmas Trees, and the Christmas gifts I had as a child, and truly appreciate every moment of the experience. So Santa. Can I count on you coming down the Chimney this year?
crippybob 
I tend to agree with you Bob. Santa was unconditional love. I think I was 12 when I realized there was no Santa, which a lot of people think is too old. But, I figure that figuring it out myself was less traumatic, though I was very sad. I often think that I was naive, and still am to some degree. But I often find myself sad at Christmas because of the feeling of loss of childhood and the realization that life isn’t magical for everyone.
Wow, I’m not sure what I’m saying. There’s a lot of mixed emotions around Christmas. I love the lights and decorations, no matter how gaudy. I miss the innocence of childhood. Even though he says it doesn’t matter, I feel sad that there are years, like this one, when I can’t put lots of presents under the tree for Jacob.
How does this all relate to believing in Santa? Not sure, but we had some acquaintances who told their kid that Santa was a story that other people made up, but the reality was that they loved their kid and they gave their kids presents because they loved him. Part of me can see their point, but a larger part of me feels sadder for that kid.
I think not having the mythology of Santa, like faeries, leprechans, and gods, reduces the wonder of the universe. But I think its purpose is to teach us to maintain the wonder even when we realize that it’s just mythology, and that the world around us magical in and of itself.