Opinion: I’m no scrooge, but I skip a big part of the Christmas magic - here's why

GROWING UP WITH an Italian-immigrant mother in the US, it wasn’t just Santa who saw me when I was sleeping, or knew when I was awake. Like many families in Ireland, we were hard-core Catholic. We attended weekly mass and regular confession. The crucifix overlooked most rooms in our house, my night light was a bust of the Virgin Mary, and everywhere I looked Padre Pio’s gloomy gaze seemed to follow me.

My mom’s common refrain was, “Dio ti guarda sempre,” or God’s always watching. And he had his helpers, Mother Mary and his saints, keeping tabs.

After Thanksgiving, that would shift to her cautioning, “Be good, Santa’s watching you!” She was a single-parent of three, so no blame or shame from me for her needing to lean on omnipotent or magical reinforcements.

When my older brother spilled the beans about Santa when I was about five, sure I was bummed for a day or two, but then there was sweet relief. One less recruit for the surveillance state constantly assessing me as ‘naughty’ or ‘nice,’ as ‘sinner’ or ‘saved.’

I knew before I even became a mother that I did not want to play up the jolly big man for my children. Now pregnant with my second child, that conviction is stronger than ever.

I want my kids to trust me

Mainly, I did not want to lie to my children. I hope to foster open communication and mutual trust and felt that leaning into this farce could corrupt that. More than one friend has told me they were devastated when they learned the truth of Santa. Others said they felt deceived: if their parents lied about this so passionately and convincingly, what else were they capable of lying about?

This is the point where I feel the need to reassure you that I genuinely love Christmas: the lights, the songs, the jumpers, the hot chocolate, the movies. I am no Scrooge. But the Santa shenanigans (and especially that Elf on the Shelf) are not for me as a parent. Here’s a bit more about why.

My young son finds the world, as it is, magical.

Many parents will wax poetic about the beauty of seeing the world through their children’s eyes. It is a cliche for a reason, because it’s true — at least it certainly is for me.

In the woods, he marvels at the tall trees or the flocks of birds flying together. On really stormy days, he gets kicks from the escalator in town and endless joy from automatic doors. And thanks to the neighbours getting work done down the street, because those tractors and diggers have provided endless fascination.

I don’t feel the need to manufacture magic for him, to impose Coca-Cola’s version of Jolly Old St. Nicholas on his psyche.

Motivating good behaviour

Then there’s the not-so-new question of behaviour motivation.

Self-determination theory, the concept of extrinsic versus intrinsic motivation, is older than I am. Very simply put, extrinsic motivation comes from the outside, doing something for the sake of praise or money or getting on the nice list. Intrinsic motivation comes from inside, because of an inherent satisfaction or curiosity.

Studies show intrinsic motivation beats extrinsic motivation for long-term commitments, while extrinsic motivation can be useful for short-term goals.

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“Stop hitting your sister, Santa is watching,” can be really effective in the moment to stop a behaviour but it won’t foster the belief and understanding that violence itself is wrong.

Do I want my son and future children to behave a certain way to receive validation in the form of gifts from a stranger?

As a recovering people pleaser, for me the answer is no. Do I bake dozens of labour intensive Italian Christmas cookies for friends and family each year because I genuinely want to keep a family tradition alive or because I want to be seen as ‘nice’? Or do I only want to keep the family tradition alive for the praise I get from our Sicilian matriarchs? I can’t honestly answer!

But I can say I hope to cultivate my children’s inner motivations. My son really enjoys chores like vacuuming and putting dishes away, so far so good. I’ll see how that holds up in a few years.

Respecting others’ beliefs

In conversations with friends, some have expressed concern that my kids could spoil the cheer for others. Just like my children aren’t responsible for helping other children maintain their beliefs about Jesus or Buddha or anything else, it won’t be their responsibility to conform to this Christmas norm for the comfort of others.

However, respect for others’ beliefs is very much something I intend to instill in my children.

I intend to make it clear that although Santa isn’t something our family practices, we’ll respect other children’s and families’ traditions.

For example, if someone in their class asks, “Oh, what did Santa bring you?” A response can be, “I got x.” Answering the question, not disparaging the other or playing into the Santa story.

I can’t say I was always so respectful when I was a non-believing child myself. I distinctly remember sneering once or twice, “Santa’s not real!” But, I also remember those kids paying me no heed whatsoever. I was simply deemed “naughty”, so those kids thought: “Of course, Santa didn’t come to her house!”

The right choice for me as a mom

There are other implications to consider as well, like overconsumption and the endless plastic waste polluting our planet. Is it better to buy my son a new plastic toy that will end up in our oceans for the excuse of Santa or is he better off in a world with less plastic, less waste?

There’s also an inherent comparison aspect when it comes to playing the Santa game. Naturally, kids compare their presents to each other, basing self-worth on the number or extravagance of their gifts. The only way to win the game is to not play.

Perhaps more than anything, last Christmas solidified that skipping Santa was right for my family. My sister, a member of the US military, was deployed over the holiday and I was charged with keeping the Christmas magic alive for her daughter in her absence.

I creatively arranged her Elf on the Shelf each night, consulting Pinterest for ideas: swinging from the light fixtures, eating Christmas cookies, perched on an instrument she was learning to play the night before with a note of encouragement penned by the elf.

After she went to bed Christmas Eve, I made snowy footprints with powdered sugar on the floor leading up to the tree. I dutifully ate the cookies on the plate and put bite marks on the carrots she left outside for the reindeer. I wrote her a heartfelt letter about how proud Santa was of her.

I’ll admit, creating that magic was fun.

But in the morning, after she opened the few gifts that we all planned to fit in her luggage, she looked sad. Santa didn’t bring her the usual haul. Her self-worth diminished by the number of gifts. That broke my heart. I wanted to come clean, “It’s all a scam!” But she was already missing her mother, I didn’t want her to lose Santa too. And as her aunt, not her parent, it wasn’t my call to make.

So, the Santa magic is a hard pass for me as a mother. I’m sure there’s plenty I’ll get wrong in my parenting journey. Maybe my kids will resent missing out on the magic in the following decades. Maybe they’ll appreciate the honesty. And, of course, it will all be coloured by the whole context of their childhoods. Only time will tell and like all parents, I’m only trying to do what’s best.

Adriana Casserly is a freelance writer and journalist in the northwest of Ireland. Previously, she was a staff editor at The New York Times.

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