I’m afraid I have fallen by the wayside recently with all this blogging business, luckily it was not a snowy ditch, just laziness and lack of oomph.
But here I am, Back With A Vengeance and, assuming that none of our readers are under seven, I thought I might tackle the difficult one at this time of year – do you tell them the truth or do you not?
It is difficult because you don’t want to ‘spoil the magic’, but do you want to spend the first few years of your childs’ life lying through your pearly whites to them? Do you want to confuse and maybe terrify them by persuading them that on one night of the year a complete stranger, an old man with a sack, (though, tonight not wear a stripey t-shirt, a black beret and mask, carrying a bag labeled ‘swag’, no, not a passing Frenchman but burglar Bill) can climb down their chimney and leave them sweets and toys which you will then encourage them to take and eat despite spending all year drumming into their innocent little heads that they must never, ever, take sweets or toys from a stranger!
I told CKs’ mother when she was a small child that I would never lie to her and I told her that the Santa story was just that, a delightful tale which she could enjoy in the safety of her perfectly secure home. I told her that if she believed in the magic of the story then it would be alive for her and I am willing to bet a very small amount that my 31 year old daughter will be leaving out a sherry for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph this Christmas eve, and still loving every minute of it.
I grew up in the small Dorset village of Corfe Castle and every year Santa arrived in the village in a spectacular way; sometimes on the steam train (as he does now) sometimes on a sleigh drawn by my friends’ cart horse, once, I remember, he appeared up on the roof of a building in the village square and climbed down a large red chimney, which I am sure was not there the day before or the day after. He appeared in the bedroom window below and carefully place many colourfully wrapped presents at the foot of a childs’ bed – the child dutifully stayed asleep throughout this, his five minutes of fame. I was awe struck, I remember loving every second of every Santa-coming every year and often I had been present when the plans were made by my father and the other village worthies, so I usually knew who ‘Santa’ was and what was going to happen. Did it spoil the magic? Not one bit.
Granny Bloggings
