Tag: kids

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Ho Ho No: Why the Santa Myth is Hazardous for Children

By Jim Spiegel

In American culture the Santa Claus story is generally considered to be a fun and entertaining aspect of the holiday season. Parents everywhere get a kick out of convincing their kids that Santa is real. This deception is, of course, reinforced through popular Santa songs, Santa films, and assorted books, games, and toys, such as the now popular Elf on the Shelf interactive toy which many parents use to motivate their kids to behave better, premised on the idea that the toy elf on their shelf is actually a moral scout for Santa.

Even committed Christians tend to see the Santa story as innocuous, though some find the tale of ole St. Nick to be an unfortunate or annoying distraction from the true meaning of Christmas—a celebration of the arrival of the Christ child to a world in need of salvation. Rarely, however, is the Santa myth regarded as a direct threat to Christian belief. After all, every adult understands that Santa isn’t real and that playing along with the story is, well, all in good fun. What danger could there be in the fable of a jolly, chubby old man soaring through the sky on a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer to bring joy to little boys and girls all around the world?

But let’s think this through. Consider the attributes of Santa Claus, according to the standard story. In order to visit the requisite 1.5 billion households worldwide, Santa would need to travel at a speed of more than 1,300 miles per second in an open sleigh while taking a fraction of a second (.0003 seconds, to be exact) to complete his deliveries at each stop. Such power over the laws of nature suggests something along the lines of omnipotence.

Furthermore, according to the Santa myth, he has exhaustive knowledge of all of our lives. As we all affirm when singing that popular Clausian hymn every Christmas season: “he sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake; he knows if you’ve been bad or good.” Clearly, then, Santa is also omniscient.

And, of course, Santa isn’t merely aware of these things. He is also our moral judge, making meticulous assessments of little boys and girls (and adults as well?). And Santa’s judgments have significant practical consequences in the form of rewards (wonderful presents) and punishments (bags of coal). Therefore, we had better “be good for goodness sake.” After all, Santa’s judgments are always right and executed with perfect justice. So Santa must also be perfectly good, an omnibenevolent being.

What all of this adds up to is a being who is all-powerful, all-knowing, and perfectly good—a being that is essentially divine. Of course, again, it’s just a silly popular story that we all know to be fictional. But that is not what millions of American parents tell their children. According to some surveys, as many as 85% of children in the United States believe that Santa Claus is real, in most cases, presumably, because their parents have told them so. Many parents personally embellish the tale and play along by, say, eating the cookies and drinking the milk that they leave out for Santa on Christmas Eve or by making a point of taking their kids to the mall to tell Santa what they want for Christmas. And when their kids get old enough to register skepticism about the whole story, they are often told to “just have faith.”

So what happens when a kid discovers that the Santa story isn’t true? Some aren’t disturbed too much by it. However, many of us vividly recall what a crushing realization this is. I certainly do. And for most kids the disappointment likely has nothing to do with the number of presents they believe they will receive in the future, since the discovery that there is no Santa Claus is likewise a discovery that one’s parents are reliable providers of Christmas gifts. Rather, this revelation is a discovery in the direction of naturalism—that the world is not as magical or enchanted as one had been led to believe by the most significant authorities in one’s life: one’s parents. What else have my parents been teaching me that is actually false? What other authorities in my life have been deluding me? No doubt the questions in the mind of an eight- or nine-year-old kid are not this well-formed, but this is the basic train of thought that I have heard adults report of their own experience as kids when first learning that the Santa story is fiction.

If the Santa myth ultimately serves to generally undermine a child’s belief in world-enchantment, the skeptical effect is more specifically associated with the classical theistic traits of Santa Claus. If a kid is told for years about this omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent being, only to have faith in that being dashed, then how might this impact her regard for biblical teachings about a God possessing precisely these same attributes? Again, the skeptical associations may not necessarily be conscious, but this doesn’t mean they aren’t real.

This is on top of the more obvious problem with telling one’s kids that Santa is real, namely the fact that to do so is to lie to them. And it is not an inconsequential lie, I would argue. It’s difficult to see how a conspiracy of parental deceptions wouldn’t have the psychological effect of sowing distrust in a kid’s mind regarding their parents’ other teachings, including—perhaps especially—teachings of a theological nature.

So however popular and entertaining the Santa myth may be, deceiving one’s kids about Santa is problematic. The fact that it is a lie that undermines parental trustworthiness is sufficient reason for parents, especially Christian parents, not to participate in the deception. But the fact that it could also set kids up for religious skepticism might be the most compelling reason not to play along. Perhaps more of us ought to take seriously the possibility that the Santa story, for all it’s fun, is actually hazardous for children.

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Parenting a Flesh-Eating Virus

By Amy Spiegel

Ah, the joys of parenting. Ever-changing, ever-challenging, ever-pulling-the-rug-out-from-under-one’s feet. I once compared my children to endlessly mutating viruses, changing and adapting just when I think I have them figured out. But I recently realized that comparing them to pathogens isn’t really a fair analogy. Deadly viruses, however destructive, are generally much neater creatures and will eventually kill you off in a gesture of mercy. Not so with children.

Maybe this is summer fever talking. Maybe too many afternoons spent squinting into baseball sideline sunshine or too many hours shuttling kids from one sleepover to another have addled my brain. Or maybe I have just seen the light, but whatever the reason, I have made a monumental discovery this summer with regards to my offspring. They are the worst roommates. Ever.

Nearly two decades ago, Jim and I said yes to a lifelong commitment of compromise and mutual self-sacrifice. At the time, I thought marriage was about the big stuff, sharing values and worldviews, all the “in sickness and in health” business. And of course, it is. It’s pretty hard to be annoyed with someone for leaving their socks on the floor, again, when they have run off with the mailman to join a tree worshipping cult in Uganda. But once you settle in for the long haul, marriage is really about figuring out how to make yourself as non-irritating as possible while hoping your partner will do the same. If both spouses are all in, it’s a pretty good gig. For us, it’s about diversifying responsibilities and everyone pulling their weight. “I’ll make the food most nights. You do the dishes. I’ll do the laundry when there is no more clean underwear. You mow the yard before the neighbors start to complain. You make most of the money and I will attempt, and fail, to balance the check book on a semi-annual basis.” A flawed system, but it works. That is, it did work, until we were overrun by children.

Now here is the part where you say “But Amy, you chose to bring these beings into this world. Surely you understood the commitment you were making.” Show me someone who says they understood the demands of being a parent before becoming one and went through with it anyway, and I will show you a pants-on-fire liar. Of course, you have a grasp of the general concept, but having a general understanding of parenthood is a lot like understanding sex; you can read about it all you want, but the experience is an entirely different matter. Sure, you might understand the basics, but parenting is the gift that just keeps on giving. Like the gift of hosting a parasite.

When they were little, my expectations of my kids were pretty low. Anyone who can’t manage to get a cheerio in his mouth in under five minutes shouldn’t be expected to contribute all that much to the overall running of the household. But I now have four partially grown human beings who have no trouble shoveling copious amounts of food into their gaping maws and yet somehow they can’t manage to put a spoon into the dishwasher. Never in my wildest of wild dreams or nightmares would I have imagined parenting young people could be this maddening. It isn’t the sleep-deprived madness of the early years which is such a paradoxical mixture of soft snuggly wonder and tear-inducing disaster that only an infinitely creative and comical God could have come up with it. It is an insanity of a much more subtle and sinister nature.

To illustrate, imagine a seemingly rational person who lives in your house. A person whom you provide with not only shelter but clothing and food as well. You not only give this person a great deal of your financial resources but also your emotional resources. You love this person, care for this person, listen to this person when they try to explain the plot of a very complex TV show mostly using sound effects and phrases like “you know.” Now imagine that you approach this person, cautiously and respectfully requesting that they put away the clothes which you have not only purchased for them but which you have recently laundered and folded as well. Any normal person would assume that this well-looked-after dependent would gratefully receive the clothes and perform the chore in a calm manner. Well, normal person, guess again. In this case, the dependent is much more likely to: (a) act as if you are a mere figment of his imagination and proceed along his merry, computer game-playing way or (b) act as if you have just asked him to create a life-sized replica of the Great Wall of China using bricks made of his own sweat and tears.

Obviously, people have been complaining about their near children since Moses forgot to put his staff in the closet. But here is the mind-blowing, guilt-freeing, deeply unburdening revelation I had this summer while picking up yet another wet swimsuit off the bathroom floor: I am responsible for being my children’s teacher in life, for guiding them in the matters of right and wrong. I am not legally or morally obligated to like them all the time.

And when they, say, leave a lunchbox full of leftovers in their closet all summer long as a surprise for me to find, not liking them is probably rather good for me. It’s all part of growing up. My not so little viruses are eating away at the selfish flesh of my heart, the part of me that wants everything to be easy and tidy and not smell like gym socks on steroids. I am slowly becoming immune to impatience and frustration as the kids, hopefully, grow in responsibility and sensitivity to others. We are slowly making progress, very slowly, as in Chinese-water-torture slow, but progress nonetheless.

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Best Spiegel Kids’ Sayings of 2011

By Jim Spiegel

As every parent knows, children say the darnedest things.  So the last couple of years I’ve taken to writing down some of my kids’ choicest verbal morsels.  Here is an annotated list of the most memorable ones from the past year.

Andrew (5):

“Don’t give that to me.  I’m full-handed.” — Nothing profound or poetic here.  Just a funny spontaneous expression from our youngest.

“You can’t be nowhere or do nothing.”  — This was a genuine metaphysical epiphany for our little guy.  After making this general observation, he proceeded to give illustrations, concluding that no matter what the situation, you’re always someplace doing something.  Right on, little man.

Maggie (7):

“When I hear music I feel like I’m in a movie.”  — Perhaps no surprise, given that she’s our little drama princess.

“Sometimes I’m afraid of coffee.” — Interesting.  Good news and bad news, I suppose.

“I’m a good fart-holder.”  — Awesome, Maggie.  And for this, we bless you.

Sam (9):

“You need to brain up.”  — Sam’s way of saying “think harder” . . .  I think.

“My hair looks like a tornado went through a circus parade.”  — This was actually a good description of what his hair looked like that morning.

Bailey (12):

“Government is like a big fat man who won’t move or change his mind.”  — As I recall, Bailey uttered these exasperated words after Amy’s pleas to the Fairmount town council for an ordinance permitting chickens within the city limits had been denied.  We brought Bailey and Sam to that town council meeting in hopes that they would see how well local government works.  Sadly, they witnessed something more along the lines of Bailey’s simile.

“Dad, is God a perfectionist?” — This is just one of Bailey’s recent theological questions.  Um . . . let’s see . . . hmm . . . define your terms, son.

Okay, shhh . . . .  While she’s not looking, here are a couple of gems from Amy:

Amy (37): 

“I’m not in the mood for democracy today.” — Uttered on a family trip after I politely suggested that we vote as a family on where we should stop to eat.

“It doesn’t need to be a competition.  I just want to be first.” — I can’t recall the context.  This was one of Amy’s classic semi-intentional ironies.  She really should be a writer.

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Out of the Mouths of Babes

By Jim Spiegel

Amy and I are constantly amazed at the things that come out of our kids’ mouths.  No, I’m not referring to regurgitant (though this can be amazing in its own right) but to their words.  Here are a few recent lines from our four little philosophers:

“I am the king of potato wedges” (Andrew Spiegel, 4) — This proclamation was made by our youngest after dinner one evening during our recent family vacation.  Because of his capacity to “put away the groceries,” as we like to say (not to mention his special taste for spuds) no one thought to challenge his claim.

“I’ve decided to sell some of my cute” (Maggie Spiegel, 6) — This statement was made by our daughter after I had developed the habit of telling her she was “too cute.”  Leave it to our little girl to interpret this simple idiom as a statement of a problem to be solved.  I forgot to ask her how she planned to execute her plan.

“The state bird for hell is the vulture” (Sam Spiegel, 7) — While driving Sam to one of his baseball games this summer the conversation turned to state birds.  Always eager to integrate theology with any topic, he came out with this one.  Strangely, I found it difficult to deny its truth.

“Cussing is just an adult’s way of whining” (Bailey Spiegel, 10) — Bailey made this assertion after hearing some people using foul language.  It has since come in handy on several occasions.  And it’s an insight that reminds me that all vice is, in one way or another, childish.