I think often about my daughter finally figuring out that my husband and I are Santa’s elves. She’ll be 9 in March and I always thought some asshole kid at school would ruin it for her.  That’s usually the case.  But here she is, still believing, which is awesome.

I remember when I found out.  My parents also figured the jig would be up at school but no dice.  It all unraveled one Saturday night when we were barbecuing in our front yard.  I think I was 5 or 6.  My dad would barbecue anything and preferred his dinner grilled, as I learned to love our meats prepared that way too. We would barbecue out in our front yard most nights by our big picnic table when we still lived in San Bernardino, CA.

My second cousin, Kris, was staying with us at the time. He was 3 or 4. And it was the night before Easter. He was in the house somewhere, playing, out of ear shot.

My mom asked me if I wanted to help be the “Easter Bunny” for Kris and as the words fell from her mouth, I could see the color drain from her cheeks.  She realized too late what she had just uttered.

“Well, if I’m the Easter Bunny for Krissy, does that mean you and Pop are for me?” I questioned.

“Yes, kiddo, that’s right” she answered.  She and my dad looked at one another, realizing what was coming next.

“Well then, are you guys the Tooth Fairy too?” I asked, frowning.

“That’s right,” my mom said.

“Santa too?” I asked.

“Yes, we are Santa too,” she said.

Fuck. The truth.  I remember them telling me lots about believing in the magic and the usual conversation that you record over and over again in your head as a parent, about how you can break it to your kids gently.  But it still was harsh nonetheless.  I never cried though.  I was tough. And the news as tough as it was, it still was fine, knowing that my parents had been making sure to keep the charade up for a number of years and giving me lots of awesome gifts.

They laughed about all the late nights my dad spent putting together my trike, wagon and other hard-to-assemble products. Or when my mom had to beat off all the crazy women who wanted to buy my Cabbage Patch doll from her, as she ran for her life from our neighborhood Sears store.

I really wonder how my daughter will take the news when the day finally comes.  She’s getting older now so she should be a tough girl too about it but you never know.  My husband will be happy that we can finally take credit for all those awesome gifts Santa made sure she got from her Christmas list.  And, he can tell her the story of the time he purchased the wrong Barbie house and at 11 p.m. on Christmas Eve, as we were putting all the hundreds of pieces together and realize it, you just go with it.  Besides, he happily blamed the error on Santa when she called it out on Christmas Day.