I can’t remember if I read or heard (or completely made it up for the sake of this blog) somebody saying that the most barbaric lie you can tell your or anybody’s offspring is the Father Christmas one. I beg to differ and if I could keep living the lie until the boys are at least 46, that would be amazing.
A quick Google search shows that nobody has suffered long term effects from finding out the truth, (whispers, you know that he doesn’t really travel by sleigh) except maybe me. One lie leads to another? I disagree, everybody knows that the aeroplane that just went over our house contains Secret Service elves, checking how many times you have walloped your brother and making sure you declare that Kinder Egg you ate in the supermarket at the check – out . Oh yes and the same goes for the huge Big Brother style screens at FC’s headquarters. He’s on the ball. It’s also a brilliant source of bribery negotiating that comes into play at 12:01am on December 26th.
As I write this, THEY (whoever THEY are) are tutting loudly, yes yes yes of course lying is not on ever. Unless of course you are being interrogated by two grumpy boys demanding to know what`s happened to their chocolate button supply. “Daddy ate it” you say sadly, hugging them as you wipe your chocolate face in their hair. But I try to imagine Christmas in our house without the magic giddiness of Father Christmas’ imminent crash down the chimney (O has asked if we can have a chimney for Christmas) and I shudder to think.
For a year after I was told the “truth”, I remember pretending I didn’t recognise my Mum’s wavy Sherry induced handwriting and I think in my coming to terms with it, I kindly passed the information on to my sister, who was 4 years younger. BAH HUMBUG to me.
In fact, just this morning O remembered that he had seen Father Christmas twice. Then there was a moment’s silence as some thoughts travelled across his Christmas list filled mind before he announced “ Once he had glasses and a ginormous belly and the other time he was really short and not very fat , remember Mummy?” I try and hide in my coffee cup, but am saved by random four year old reasoning “ Oh , it’s ok!” he says relieved, “ I just remembered it must have been his brother….”