My parents really put Santa Claus in his place. I'm glad they prioritized religion.
Before they scurry off to bed this Christmas Eve, many kids will set out a plate of cookies, a glass of milk and perhaps even a carrot stick for Santa Claus and his reindeer to thank them for stopping by and to help fuel the rest of their whirlwind trip around the globe. The ritual is one of many harmless little traditions that families repeat with a wink year after year to nurture a sense of holiday magic and wonder – and it's one of the Christmas traditions my family didn't indulge when I was young.
My sister and I were raised with a general awareness of Santa lore. We heard about some guy who was super generous a long time ago. We enjoyed Hollywood's take on Christmas in the 1990s, with "Home Alone," "The Santa Clause" and "Jingle All The Way." And we saw people dressed as Santa in parades, at parties and at the mall. So we knew who the jolly fella was. But we never sent him a letter, and our family certainly didn't make a habit of trying to feed him or his reindeer.
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Focus on God, not Santa
Our parents kept Santa at arm's length because they didn't want him to take center stage in our minds. They didn't want us to marvel at his story when we should be marveling at the story of an all-powerful God who shoehorned himself into mortality. They didn't want us to focus on the North Pole when we should be focusing on Bethlehem.
Their approach to Christmas is pretty well summed up by a ceramic ornament that's hanging on their tree again this year. It shows a bald Santa, his hands folded in reverence as he kneels beside baby Jesus in the manger – a clear depiction of the pecking order in our house. My parents never banned Santa; they just put him in his place.
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As devout evangelicals for whom the Bible is both literal history and divine guidance, my parents sought to draw a clear distinction between real and make-believe. While it may be fun to picture an army of elves feverishly testing each Tickle Me Elmo as it flies down a conveyor belt, my parents made clear such fantastical scenes have nothing in common with the reality of the Nativity, where God literally took on human form with a 33-year plan to save humanity.
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Now, as a childless adult, I can't help but think fostering a kid's temporary faith in Father Christmas would be a risky proposition for parents who also hope to foster a permanent faith in a Heavenly Father. Once children realize their parents knowingly withheld the truth about Santa, they are bound to doubt every single benevolent being they encounter (especially once they take a deep dive into the Old Testament). How unnerving that must be for parents like mine.
Cherishing the joy of giving
But the reason I reflect fondly these days on how my mom and dad did Christmas has relatively little to do with religion or spirituality. Their approach was motivated primarily by their religious views, for sure, but it produced a secular side effect that I cherish.
While friends were taught to mind their manners so some white-bearded stranger would deem them gift-worthy under his naughty-or-nice meritocracy, my sister and I were taught from the get-go that holiday gifts are purely an expression of love among family, friends and neighbors. For us, exchanging gifts as a Christmas tradition has always been about who we are to each other – not a reward for good deeds performed, but an affirmation of the innate goodness we see in each other.
I have no doubt that Santa-believing children can be just as generous and loving as my parents raised me to be. Perhaps those children derive lasting benefits from the imagination-sparking rituals my family skipped. But this holiday season, as the hubbub of consumer culture contributes again to our collective stress and distraction, I'm grateful that my parents sidelined Santa early on, showing me how to cut through the noise and experience the joy of giving.
Steven Porter is an assistant Opinion editor. Follow him on Twitter: @reporterporter