The moment has come. The Frenchman wants to tell the Bambina about Père Noël. I do not. Or should I say, I do not want to tell her that a fat old man in a red suit will be coming down our chimney on Christmas Eve to leave her presents.
What is worse, the Frenchman wants to do Père Noël à la française. The French version of Santa differs a little from how it is explained in North America. Where I grew up, Santa left you some presents but then you also got presents from Grandma and Grandpa (both sides), Auntie Lois, Uncle Jimmy, maybe even from a godparent. In France, all presents come from Père Noël. So when the Frenchman gets a Christmas present for his godson in France, as far as the godson is concerned, the present is from Père Noël, not his godfather. His godfather gave him nothing. How messed up is that?
But my bigger problem is with the whole notion of telling my daughter that any of her presents came Santa at all because, unless I happen to discover gifts that some stranger has surreptitiously placed gifts under our tree while we were asleep, telling her that her presents came from Santa Claus will be a lie.
"So what?", I hear you saying. "It's a nice lie."
I don't agree. When we tell our children about Santa Claus, we do so because we know that small children are too young to know any better. We are appealing to our children's naïve and gullible side. We are saying to our children, "I am going to deceive you because I can, because you are incapable of knowing any better." To me, deception based on the other person's inability to think critically or realistically about something shows that you really do not respect that person. We tell the truth to people whom we respect.
Of course, the Bambina may have an entirely different opinion to the one that I proffer her about Santa Claus. So far, I have told the Bambina that Santa Claus is a nice story. Whether she chooses to believe me or not is another issue.
