All around me it seems, my peers and my fellow Babble writers are exploring putting their collective feet down about holiday traditions. Perhaps it's that we feel emboldened to declare our own rules once our kids start getting older, or maybe it's just time for a little generational power shift. Who knows.
One of the major issues is who goes where when. Jeanne Sager, in her bad parent column "Sorry Can't Make It" has a firm answer: We're staying put. I seem to be luckier than Jeanne in that I generally enjoy the family holiday gatherings I'm expected to attend, but I know plenty of people in her boat, and I recognize all of her other points: The non-festiveness of travel, of being in company mode, of being expected to dress up the kid. I would add to that the sheer exhaustion of decisions and logistics, since in my extended family we've never settled on a default plan—I think we've spent Christmas day in five different places over the past eight years.
So we, too, have decided to make it our new default to stay in our very own house for most of Christmas day itself, with a drive to nearby grandparents for dinner. It feels like declaring a center, and lets us create a Christmas tradition that is our family's own, instead of trying to awkwardly re-create the childhood Christmases of one of our families of origin.
We're still getting in the car on the 26th for a long drive, it's true, but somehow that feels different.
Meanwhile, Sasha Brown-Worsham won't let her child believe in Santa, and commenters seem to think she's taking an extreme and Grinchy stance. I never would have expected it, having been a believe-until-late kid myself, but as a parent, I'm with Sasha. For me it doesn't have to do with trauma from mall santas, or even wanting to avoid waiting in line to see one. Nor does it have to do with being a humbug or a Grinch—if anything we go a bit overboard with emphasizing the magic and stories of the season. If my daughter decides for herself to believe in Santa, as some kids who are explicitly told otherwise do, that won't bother me.
Nor I don't mind telling the story. I've read Rudolph in the original rhyming couplets a dozen times in the past week. In fact, the way we've decided to handle Santa's omnipresence is just to add a bunch of other stories about gift-giving figures (La Befana, Holle, St. Nicholas) to my daughter's repetoire of seasonal tales.
The thing that gets me is how people suddenly get seriously invested in our children really believing something that isn't true, as if that's required in order to have a sense of wonder about the season. Not just telling a fun story, but going to major contortions to make it seem plausible (different handwriting on the tags etc.) and having hysterics if another kid lets the truth slip (or a parent opts out of the game). I am also pretty creeped out by the idea that some random old guy is keeping track of your behavior and is going to judge you worthy of gifts or not a year later. How very Calvinist. Besides, no parent I've heard of actually withholds gifts for bad behavior any more.
There's also the story I remember hearing of the girl who kept asking Santa for things she knew her parents couldn't afford, and kept getting them. When she learned, she was consumed with guilt. Yippee! There's the Christmas spirit for you!
So, while I won't be on a crusade to spoil other families' Santa charades, we're not playing, thanks.
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