God save us from zealots

Ghosts of Christmases past, the three dolls of my childhood, Mary, Janet and Wendy, still live in a cardboard box in my house. How could I throw away such loyal old plastic friends? My mother named them. I could not be trusted. I was also not allowed milkshakes or icecream of any flavour but vanilla, which would be least likely to stain if I smeared them on my clothes.

I had a mother. This is some indication of her nature. The fact that I still choose vanilla is proof of all you ever read about Pavlov’s dogs, trained much as I was to dribble on cue in their case, in mine to know that mother-knows-best.

There are millions of mothers in this world like her, and a fine example has appeared in Auckland. She kept her child home from school for fear he’d learn that Christmas is not, after all, simply a festival of consumerism, overeating, lollies and gifts. God forbid – if you’ll pardon the expression – that he learn, by any means whatever, that it is in fact a Christian festival. It might do him grievous harm.

The mother has struck before. She says her child previously had a schoolyard debate about Santa, and a teacher told him off. I would guess, bearing his mother in mind, that he would not have been arguing that Santa is real.

He would likely be the one child in any class who confidently broadcasts the unwelcome truth, shattering the fantasy enjoyed by children everywhere until some smarty-pants puts them right.

It is unpleasant work, broadcasting truth and shattering illusions, but someone’s got to do it, and who would that be, if not a mother?

The Bible, this mother no doubt insists, is a made-up story. Never mind that millions of people hold to its text and teachings, which underpin the ethical principles behind our laws and generally accepted values. Other cultures have their own laws and systems, and none of them, as far as I know, were dictated by mothers. Plainly there is a problem.

There is nothing quite like a dedicated atheist for evangelistic fervour, and nothing quite like believing your own mind’s conclusions are equal to those of the greatest minds in world history. We all do it.

For that matter, there is no more intoxicating idea than that there are absolute facts, and you know what they are. Such beliefs – as opposed to facts – lead parents to withhold life-saving medical treatments, inoculations, and fluoridation of water, the very reason why my own children have few fillings, while my mouth is wall-to-wall amalgam and caps.

This mother believes that learning about things she doesn’t believe in will harm her child. But more than that, she wants to interfere in what other children learn.

Many mothers are dictators in their own homes, which is their private pleasure, but branching out into the classroom to compete with teachers is another matter.

The purpose of education, we fervently hope, is to learn how to think, not what to think. We may reject what teachers tell us in the process, but God – pardon the expression – help us if we contradict mothers is the moral here.

This mother, and others like her, would probably like to be in charge of the school curriculum. She tells us that ‘‘encouraging students to talk about their own beliefs ... that’s really, really bad’’. Quite why is unclear.

What a strange way to observe Christmas, which contains the word Christ for a reason. Best to hide one’s head under a duvet on the 25th and pretend it never happens, I guess. That would please any rational child.