¡Los Malditos Duendes! My journey through the Elf/Santa/Los Reyes minefield and the curse of the holiday lie.

One of the benefits of having two daughters who are five years apart, is that you get to try out all kinds of stuff with the first one, and have the benefit of a replay when the second comes of age. Sometimes we do things similarly - like teaching sign language to the girls. Sometimes we double down, like enrolling the younger one in daycare earlier.  Sometimes, we drop things entirely, like baby proofing every corner of the house, and those ridiculous cloth seat covers for shopping carts -  And surprise!  The younger one didn’t electrocute herself or catch staphylococcus  - what a relief!

But come the holiday season, having the benefit of the first child still did not prepare me for the stress of all the magic and lore that comes with the holidays which you must either buy into or completely reject, with equally daunting costs and benefits.  Namely, those damned elves on the shelves, the big Santa thing, and of course - the The Three Kings.

They Drive Because They Are on the No-Fly List

These holiday personas force mamis and papis to decide if they should A: participate in a social lie which for most families will inevitably be proven false and thereby put a temporary strain on the parent/child relationship, or B: deny the opportunity for the child to experience some of the childhood fantasy and wonder of the holiday and participate in common cultural traditions that can actually bring families closer together.  We’ve gone both ways on this for the various holiday icons, with mixed results.

We first fell under this catch 22 when my elder daughter’s dance teammates started getting those elves on the shelves. A New Jersey trend that went viral quickly - dance moms and dads were posting pics of their little toys in carefully placed nooks and crannies, and we felt obliged to join in. My neighbor decided to make his elf a psychopath, which ended up terrifying his children as they found the heads of other dolls on the floor with the elf holding a bloody knife in the morning.

We kept it pretty traditional, though there were more nights than not where I shot up, awake at 2AM, remembering that I hadn’t moved them, or scrambling in the mornings when we heard the pitter patter of feet upstairs.  For parents it is a very stressful time, but the kids seemed to enjoy the idea of tiny beings being their advocate to Santa. My daughter even made them clothes and sent them letters to which she got thank you replies, which of course, only mean more work for me.

The inevitable meltdown did come one day. One of the older dance girls on her team decided to spill the beans (because misery loves company) and tell her that it was all a ruse. She defended her position at the time,  but later challenged me direct with the “please don’t lie daddy” card. It was all I could take. The next three days was a traumatic realization that the world was a cruel joke and her papi had lied to her. I hated every minute of it. I secretly wished that girl who decided to stomp on my daughter’s innocence got a well placed pimple on her nose.  I tried to explain that it was just for fun, and while she got around to forgiving us for putting her in the position of having to defend a lie, she understood that we were just trying to make her happy and see a smile on her face. These days, it’s her younger sister that currently believes, though we downplay the of importance of the elves. I am hoping to have the conversation where we tell her the truth, hopefully this year, before another know-it-all older kid beats us too it. I’ll be happy to be rid of this awful tradition. The sooner they tire of it, the better.

Santa Likes Trees

Santa is a little different in our house - we talk about the concept, and sing the songs, but the presents are wrapped and under the tree well before Christmas eve, and while I do dress up as the jolly man himself, the girls recognize their aquiline nosed, brown skinned dad through the beard and hat. Within 10 minutes I usually have to take off the whiskers anyway as I’m sweating under the polyester and extra layers of fake girth. We use the lore more as an American cultural tradition than an exercise of faith and fact.  I never grew up believing in Santa myself, because my Christmas eves were spent at Grandma’s house, and she dressed as Mrs. Claus to hand out the presents. To me Santa was too utterly fantastical to believe and hard to explain, especially where I grew up which was without fireplaces on house roofs. So while they still get excited for gifts or when they see Santa at the mall, they see Santa as they see a princess at Disney world - an incarnation of a character, not the man himself.

Los Reyes = Squad Goals

The Three Kings or rather, Los Reyes, are another story that’s serious business in our house. We make the shoe boxes, leave notes, cassava bread and coffee, and yes, on Jan 6th there are surprise gifts for the children that magically appear. This is an old Puerto Rican tradition that I wanted to bring into our family and it is perhaps the one thing I can’t bring myself to admit is also a parents-r-us theatrical production. However, knowing that the elves are fake and that Santa is “a historical figure to inspire giving and kindness,” I think the girls are playing along, just to make their papi happy. Oh, the lies we tell each other to see a smile on our loved ones faces. Happy Holidays.