Santa Truth

Yesterday we were having lunch at my parents’ house. At the end of lunch, my daughter, driven by some unknown motivation, asked her mother if Santa Claus really exists. She’s getting on in years, and we expected the question sooner or later. We hoped later rather than soon.

My partner, still surprised, replied that yes, he exists, that if she believes in him, of course he exists!, but that in reality we’ve always bought and wrapped the presents ourselves, not Santa Claus. Her eyes welled up—mine too—and she first said we’re bad, then that she loves us.

Then, turning to me, she asked: “So who answered my letters?” I cried like Ataru Moroboshi when he was hit by Lum. I wrote the letters for you, I answered her. She first slapped me, then hugged me and kissed me.

We were like that for about twenty seconds. Then she moved away a few inches and looked me in the eye: first she whispered thank you, then she asked me to buy her an iPad for Christmas.