It started out as any Sunday night. The kids were in bed and I had just finished up a blog post that I was extremely proud of. It was a 33-year-old’s case to believe in Santa, and even though now it is a year later, I firmly still believe in everything I wrote that night… and in Santa.

For me, I felt that it was a unique take on what it means to be a parent and believing in Santa and I had to run upstairs to tell my wife. Being the person I am, unable to articulate my thoughts in a full sentence, I was not able to do the story justice. I had to settle knowing she would just have to read it when I publish it in a couple days.

We stood there discussing how Santa was going to visit our house this year. Every year it seems that Santa visits a different way than the year before, I guess keeping it fresh and interesting for all of us. It wasn’t 2 minutes into the conversation that we heard the water running in the bathroom upstairs, just a few steps away from where my wife and I were talking about Santa.

I was startled. I thought my kids were all sleeping at this point in the night. Which is why I believed I was in the safe zone talking about Santa.

Had I just ruined Santa?

As I stood there, in one of those moments that you are unsure exactly what to do. I asked myself, do I go up and talk to my son to see if I have ruined Santa, who was only wanted some water to drink? Or do I possibly let it go as nothing had even happened?

Ruined Santa

As I made my way upstairs, the worst conversation that I was about to have with my son, worked it’s way through my mind…

“Dad, I heard what you and mom were talking about. I know about Santa now.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m sorry I ruined Santa for you. Uh, why don’t we add that to another one of the stupid things that I tend to say from time to time.”

“Dad, it’s ok, I get it. It seems kind of weird anyway that a fat jolly old man would come in through our chimney… when we have things that cover the top of it, and how would he even get down through it?”

In the 5 seconds it took me to walk up the stairs, there it was. The conversation that I was ready to have but not.

I turn the corner to the bathroom…

“Hey buddy how’s it going?”

For a brief moment, I was hoping that he didn’t hear anything. That maybe his belief in Santa was even stronger on this night than it was the night before.

“I just needed to go to the bathroom.”

“Alright, here I will walk you back to bed.”

As a sigh of relief rushed through me, I could tell that he was not fully awake and more than likely didn’t hear or wasn’t paying any attention to what mom and dad were talking about. I lay in bed cuddling my sonback to sleep, half wondering if I should bring it up or just let it go.

As I quietly sneak back downstairs, I look at my wife and say that I think we are in the clear.

Ruined Santa

Maybe I didn’t ruin Santa!

The next morning as we drive to school, no a word is said. The silence was nearly deafening. I couldn’t stand it. I had to know if my son had heard anything.

“So what do you think that you are going to ask Santa for this year?”

As my heart started to beat faster and faster, I could see a smile come across his face. He knew the exact present that he wanted from Santa. He knew that not only was he going to have fun with this gift, but I was also going to have fun with it.

“A Mega Nerf Gun!”

“I think we… I mean Santa might be able to do that.”

And there it was, despite what I thought was the time that I ruined Santa for my 7-year-old. Seeing the light in his eyes when we talked about Santa that morning, gave me one more reason to believe in the jolly old man that Christmas.

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