I had my suspicions about Santa pretty early—as a too-curious preschooler snooping in my parents’ bedroom, I found boxes for some gifts that had been “from Santa”; my mother had made up some story explaining it. Later (6 or 7 years old?) I found a page stuffed into a drawer that had been ripped out of a book—it explained how to tell your kids that Santa wasn’t real. I read all of the books on the shelf at home, including the parenting book; that was the bit of knowledge my parents wanted to hide from me! (I suppose they thought I would be too young to understand some of the other stuff I’d find, but that I would understand that if I found it. My parents really had no idea how to deal with a young voracious reader.)
So I knew that Santa wasn’t real but that my parents (my mother, really) cared that I not find out. I don’t think Santa in particular affected me much in part because I was a voracious reader—I knew a lot of things that were different than what my parents told me, and I also knew that most parents were advised that kids might not be ready to know them. (Like I said, I read their parenting book.)
Knowing that I couldn’t trust my parents to tell me the truth about a lot of things (not just Santa) because they thought it better that I know a pleasant lie, and also that they really had no idea what I was and wasn’t ready to hear, had a tremendous effect on me. I didn’t trust them even when I should have, in fact; I rarely trusted people to be telling me the whole truth or to have good judgment about what I should and shouldn’t be doing. (I also grew up in a weird household, the main thing being that my mother was hospitalized for mental illness when I was 11.) It was good for me in some ways—but there are some big things I should have sought someone’s guidance for, if not my parents’, but I simply had no idea how to go about it or even that I should.
I found a page stuffed into a drawer that had been ripped out of a book—it explained how to tell your kids that Santa wasn’t real.
Shades of what happened when I found the secret hidden volume of my beloved Childcraft set, the “Guide to Parents”! Only in my case, that’s how I found out what teenagers were supposed to be like and that’s when I decided never to go there.
I read similar books when I was a kid, but my parents never tried to keep them secret from me. I don’t think they ever saw my reading about parenting or child development as something to be worried about, and they were aware of my commitment never to go through all the troubles of a typical teenager. Unsurprisingly, I found my own ways to be difficult.
I had my suspicions about Santa pretty early—as a too-curious preschooler snooping in my parents’ bedroom, I found boxes for some gifts that had been “from Santa”; my mother had made up some story explaining it. Later (6 or 7 years old?) I found a page stuffed into a drawer that had been ripped out of a book—it explained how to tell your kids that Santa wasn’t real. I read all of the books on the shelf at home, including the parenting book; that was the bit of knowledge my parents wanted to hide from me! (I suppose they thought I would be too young to understand some of the other stuff I’d find, but that I would understand that if I found it. My parents really had no idea how to deal with a young voracious reader.)
So I knew that Santa wasn’t real but that my parents (my mother, really) cared that I not find out. I don’t think Santa in particular affected me much in part because I was a voracious reader—I knew a lot of things that were different than what my parents told me, and I also knew that most parents were advised that kids might not be ready to know them. (Like I said, I read their parenting book.)
Knowing that I couldn’t trust my parents to tell me the truth about a lot of things (not just Santa) because they thought it better that I know a pleasant lie, and also that they really had no idea what I was and wasn’t ready to hear, had a tremendous effect on me. I didn’t trust them even when I should have, in fact; I rarely trusted people to be telling me the whole truth or to have good judgment about what I should and shouldn’t be doing. (I also grew up in a weird household, the main thing being that my mother was hospitalized for mental illness when I was 11.) It was good for me in some ways—but there are some big things I should have sought someone’s guidance for, if not my parents’, but I simply had no idea how to go about it or even that I should.
Shades of what happened when I found the secret hidden volume of my beloved Childcraft set, the “Guide to Parents”! Only in my case, that’s how I found out what teenagers were supposed to be like and that’s when I decided never to go there.
I read similar books when I was a kid, but my parents never tried to keep them secret from me. I don’t think they ever saw my reading about parenting or child development as something to be worried about, and they were aware of my commitment never to go through all the troubles of a typical teenager. Unsurprisingly, I found my own ways to be difficult.