# When To Tell Kids Santa Claus Is Not Real?



## guytoronto (Jun 25, 2005)

http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2006570270,00.html



> A PRIMARY school sacked a woman teacher for telling heartbroken nine-year-olds there is no Father Christmas.


9yo? Isn't that like Grade 4? Who is Grade 4 still thinks Santa Claus is legit?

Personally, I don't ever plan on telling my kids whether or not Santa Claus is real. I'll let them figure it out on their own.

The gifts under the tree with indication who they came from? Hmmm....it's a mystery.


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## kwmike (Oct 25, 2006)

I have to say Mac, because PC sucks!   Cop!


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## John Clay (Jun 25, 2006)

Each kid has their own "time", when they begin to question things. The proper time to tell them is when they ask about it. The same applies to sex - if they ask, tell them.


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## gordguide (Jan 13, 2001)

You don't have to tell them, they're pretty proud when they figure it out by themselves. Proud is good, it helps motivate them to learn and to figure out things themselves.

It's better if instead of thinking of these things as problems that must be settled, think of them as tools we are given to raise our children to be the adults we want them to be.

Often kids don't realize what they know all at once; it dawns on them subtlely.

I believe that if you discover or suspect they have figured it out for themselves, try to instill in them that they are sharing a grown-up secret, so that they feel motivated to keep it from smaller kids who still enjoy Santa.

So instead of agreeing that there is no Santa and acting from that moment like there never was, continue to act as you did before, but treat it like a shared confidence. Kids like shared confidences, and you need to nurture confidences with your children. It's important to help build up the kind of trust they need to feel so that they can always come to you with their problems.

That Santa is not real is not a problem; it's a tool that is given to you. You can misuse it by going "well, now you know and we don't have to pretend anymore" or you can continue to use it; your kids will do as you do when smaller kids are around; party you are teaching them parenting skills and partly you are teaching them life skills; empathy for the feelings of others, for one.

Keeping Santa in the picture also helps keep the fun in the holidays, if you are too literal and matter of fact about Christmas, it soon becomes a simple matter of loot. Once you've "solved" the "Santa Problem" it's over; why not keep using it as your children grow?

How you do that is really up to you and depends on your relationship with the child, but a wink at the right moment might be one example, perhaps followed by an explanation later as to why we do it that way. Or whatever works with your family.


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## Dr.G. (Aug 4, 2001)

A student just sent this to me. Thought I would share it with all of you.


Believe in Santa Claus

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma.
I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day
because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told
the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier
when swallowed with one of her "world- famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they
were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we
walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.

That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy
something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she
turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but
never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids
at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.

Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to
recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't
have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a
good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag,
smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat Christmas paper and ribbons
and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. A little tag fell out of coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept
noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a
nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on
his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open.
Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were -- ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that
care...

And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!


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## guytoronto (Jun 25, 2005)

Great story Dr. G.


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## Heart (Jan 16, 2001)

Oh man,
:-( 
:-( 
:-(


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## Dr.G. (Aug 4, 2001)

Maybe this will soften Heart's heart.

New York Sun, September 21, 1897. The editorial included the response to "Is There A Santa Claus?" and has become an indelible part of popular Christmas lore in the United States. 


Is There a Santa Claus?


"We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor-- 
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus? 
-- Virginia O'Hanlon, 115 West Ninety-fifth street. 

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."

Paix, mes amis.


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## moonsocket (Apr 1, 2002)

My daughter is 10 and firmly believes in Santa. I'm 35 and still believe!


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## Beej (Sep 10, 2005)

guytoronto said:


> Personally, I don't ever plan on telling my kids whether or not Santa Claus is real.


And the teacher doesn't need to make that choice for you until an age where it truly is common knowledge and just part of conversation (ie. can't dance around it forever). Kids may pick it up in general conversation or amongst friends or go to their parents, but a teacher should be careful. Firing someone for it is going too far, though.


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## guytoronto (Jun 25, 2005)

The whole Santa Claus thing is part of growing up, and sell discovery. It teaches kids to not always trust what they are told, and that it is okay to question things without proof.

What the teacher did was rather stupid, but not a firing offense.


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## Dr.G. (Aug 4, 2001)

Moonsocket, I am 58 and I still believe .................. and I am Jewish. Paix, mon ami.


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## SINC (Feb 16, 2001)

Santa exists in so many ways they are difficult to count, but purist scientist types have no comprehension of such things.


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## Dr.G. (Aug 4, 2001)

My wife just sent me this story.

"A bit corny...but worth reading....About generosity in the deepest sense.


An Early Christmas Story

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was
from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not
from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early
that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra
time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of
the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still
feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood
to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up
again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already
done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too
busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice
in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight."
I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for
Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly
reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I
couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a
night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging
one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my
boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a
mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was
up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was
the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were
going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could
tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big
load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy.
When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front
of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the
high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had
been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on,
but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the
high sideboards on.
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and
came out with an armload of wood -- the wood I'd spent all summer
hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks
and splitting. What was he doing?
Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" "You
been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived
about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before
and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd
been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "Why?" "I rode by just today," Pa
said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to
find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the wood-
shed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so
high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.
Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke
house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to
me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.
When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right
shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in
the little sack?" I asked. "Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey
just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the
woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just
wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to the Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I
tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by
worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most
of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to
saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and
flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so
why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of
this? The Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have
been our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the
wood as quietly as possible. Then we took the meat and flour and shoes
to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice
said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come
in for a bit?"
The Widow Jensen opened the door to let us in. She had a blanket
wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and
were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly
gave off any heat at all. The Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and
finally lit the lamp.
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of
flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that
had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out
one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the
children -- sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.
I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from
trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her
cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it
wouldn't come out. "We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He
turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's
get that fire up to size and heat this place up."
I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I
had a big lump in my throat, and as much as I hate to admit it, there
were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids
huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears
running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she
couldn't speak.
My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before filled
my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it
had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the
lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and the
Widow
Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for
a long time.
She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord
has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send
one of his angels to spare us." In spite of myself, the lump returned
to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.
I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after the Widow
Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure
that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started
remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and
many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.
Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord
would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down the Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up
to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug.
They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they
missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The
turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get
cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to
get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around
again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the
youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved
away.
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have
to say, 'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will."
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't
even notice the cold.
When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to
know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away
here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we
didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little
money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me
were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I
started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw
little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in
those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do.
Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children.
I hope you understand." I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears
again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it.
Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me
a lot more. He had given me the look on the Widow Jensen's face and the
radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
block of wood, I remembered. And remembering brought back that same joy
I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than
a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

Merry Christmas and God's Blessing to all."


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## zoziw (Jul 7, 2006)

Obviously this teacher doesn't know what she is talking about but much worse:



> and fairies did not exist either.


Somewhere in the world a fairy dropped dead when she said this. :-(


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## djstp (Mar 10, 2006)

you mean santa is not real???
 

and i had to find this out on a mac forum?


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## interlude (May 30, 2006)

HE'S NOT REAL???


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