Little white lie explodes in death of innocence WARNING: CHILDREN, PLEASE SEEK PARENTAL PERMISSION BEFORE READING THIS COLUMN
COME on everybody … sing it with me:
You better watch out This mum’s gonna cry Her kids just found out That ‘someone’ is a lie I accidentally just killed Christmas!
I KNEW this day would come, but I never suspected that I would be the architect of the death of festive innocence.
My son has been pestering me since well before last December 25 about the true existence of the fat man in red. And when I say pestering, I mean he’s been looking me directly in the eye and straight-out asking if he’s real.
Knowing my husband’s devotion to this deception, I’ve simply turned my back and answered in the affirmative, while simultaneously praying for forgiveness for this longterm lying.
By January this year I was breaking out in a rash from this extreme Christmas STD (Santa Truth Denial).
We’ve continued to be peppered with the odd question all year, but I’ve managed to divert the conversation with less stressful subjects, like sex and menstruation.
But on Saturday, our successful subterfuge came crashing down. All because my kids Googled my name.
No, I don’t know why they are so lame. It might be time to sign them up for some more sports.
Still, apparently this is a common practice among children. You’re nobody until you’re searchable on the internet.
Which is sad for my husband as he shares his name with not one but multiple famous alter egos. But also, he doesn’t even have a Facebook account so … is HE even real?
Actually, do take a moment to think about your name and what your kids might see if they search it. I say this after my cousin’s son discovered a whole new world – a world of porn, actually – after he searched his dad.
Whose last name is Cumming. #awkward #cannotbeunseen
So maybe I should be grateful that my children’s search only showed a list of my columns and articles.
Except that this list included one titled: “How do I tell my kids that (name redacted, because we can’t be too careful) isn’t real, asks Ann Wason Moore”. (FYI I do not write the headlines.)
Oh my … if only Ann of December 2017 knew that simply by asking that question, Ann of August 2018 wouldn’t even need to answer it.
Ha! So ironic. So meta. No really, these are tears of laughter.
My son was fine, jubilant in fact. At last, he had proof that his suspicions were founded.
Despite my disappointment that this magical chapter of childhood was over, it wasn’t long before I started to see the silver lining of a lie-less life.
No longer do I need to dream up reasons why a flying unicorn or jumbo jetpack were not delivered to our door on December 25. No longer do I need to deny myself credit for Christmas presents that are not just awesome but awesomely expensive.
And guess what? I don’t even have to buy multiple wrapping paper prints any more just so that questions aren’t asked about whether there’s also an Aldi in the North Pole.
Alas, just as I was congratulating myself on this true Christmas miracle, my daughter handed me a little handwritten note, which read:
“25 August 2018, worst day. Found out (name redacted) not real.”
Then she turned her big blue eyes to me and asked: “But what about Buddy?” (Buddy’s our elf on the shelf – the Christmas tradition of the new millennium – sent from the North Pole to help manage naughty and nice lists.) What could I say? “Yes, sweetheart,” I answered, lying through my smile. “He’s definitely real.”
What have I done? I was so close to Christmas freedom. (Also: slightly concerned about degree of daughter’s naivety).
You know what? I’m just going to leave this newspaper on her bed tonight.
Ann has all the answers.