Preserving the magic of childhood, however we can
Warning: Parents, this story isn’t for young believers. Keep out of the reach of children, if you catch our drift.
On Monday, I joined my firstgrader and about 100 other kids — and curious parents — at our neighborhood elementary school’s playground for the eclipse. It was like Woodstock with sunglasses in suburbia: people sprawled on blankets or milling around anticipatorily, waiting for the excitement to take hold. At around 3:15, it started to get hazy. Mosquitoes appeared. Dogs whined. We fastened our collective shades, looked heavenward, and spent a few moments suspended in time.
My son and his squirmy chums were captivated. They didn’t fidget. They kept their glasses on. They sat perfectly still, transfixed by something grander than themselves. Then it was time to go to aftercare to chase one another. But those few moments were precious and (literally) universal. They were also incredibly rare. We’re usually so jaded, so busy, and so hurried, that pausing in awe of something, anything, seems frivolous.
It made me think a lot about childhood innocence: When does it end? What are the small ways we can preserve that wonderment? I asked parents about their “magical” rituals — things that arrive more often than the eclipse, like the Tooth Fairy or Santa — and how they keep the myth alive, or how it fizzled. When is the ruse over? Is it ever really over?
There are the big rites of passage, like graduations. But so often, childhood gives way to cynicism in the smaller moments. (Spoiler alert: Hard truths ahead!)
“In first grade, one of my classmates stood up right before Christmas and said, ‘Santa isn’t real! My parents told me!’ We were only 5 or 6, and I remember I just wanted to cry. After that, everything changed for me. I started paying more attention. I started noticing my parents making us go to bed early to wrap gifts. … I tried everything I could to still believe, even though I knew. But I truly felt the magic of being a child leave once Santa wasn’t ‘real’ anymore,” remembers Waltham’s Mikayla Pearson.
Pearson recalls this so vividly, even though she now has a toddler herself.
“I think the hardest thing as a parent is that what your child believes is in your hands, and you’re responsible for the outcome of that emotionally,” she says.
And it is emotional: Take it from Jocelyn Goldberg in Newton.
“I remember my son asking to tell him honestly if Santa was real. I tried to convince him he had to believe for Santa to come to the house. He kept saying: ‘Be honest with me: Is Santa real?’ And I finally said: ‘No, he’s not real.’ My 7-year-old son’s mouth became the most perfect ‘O,’ and his eyes opened so wide. He said: ‘Man! Is anything real?’ I felt like I burst the bubble of innocence,” she says.
In Belmont, when Hayley Denker’s 9-year-old son discovered that Santa was actually his parents, he exploded: “My whole life is a lie! I’m heartbroken!” she recalls.
Of course, sometimes kids suspect something’s up long before we’re ready to tell them. In Arlington, Rachel Hartstein’s son, Sean, didn’t love the idea of a stranger creeping into his bedroom late at night to slip him money in exchange for teeth.
“One fateful day, when [my son] had just lost maybe his fourth or fifth tooth, I started in with the spiel about making sure we leave it for the Tooth Fairy — when I heard him, hesitatingly, call out to me: ‘Mom? I don’t think I’m comfortable with someone coming into my room when I’m sleeping.’ And in an instant, I knew it was time to come clean to him,” she says. (He began questioning Santa’s existence shortly thereafter.)
In Needham, Laura Garabedian’s crafty child lost a tooth, put it under his pillow, and didn’t tell anyone.
“And the Tooth Fairy never came! I think he knew for a while and was waiting to trick us. He still happily plays along for the sake of his younger siblings, or for the money,” she says.
And sometimes well-meaning parents unwittingly spoil the ruse. Such was the case for Melissa LoPorto in Acton, whose child lost a tooth on vacation but later found it again, hidden by the supposed Tooth Fairy in a bedside table.
“It was bittersweet — an honor to be witness to their growing up [and] also a reminder of the speed of time passing, and something of a relief as well to not be carrying on with the fabrication,” she says.
But, even when kids outgrow their innocence, the magic can continue. That’s the fun.
“My son point-blank asked me if I was Santa after questioning some of the logical fallacies around it for a while. I thought he would be upset, but instead he just wanted to find out which of his friends already knew so he wouldn’t spill the secret to anybody else, which I just thought was so sweet,” says Meg Vulliez in Roslindale.
“My kiddo is very much a believer in everything magic, even making up her own ways that things that aren’t magic could be, and we go with it. … When she asks, I’ll tell her something along the lines of: ‘Grown-ups sometimes help kids see and experience magic in things,’” says Somerville’s Rebecca Payne, whose 6-yearold believes in the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, Santa, and even a travel fairy who puts surprises in her backpack before trips.
And that’s our job as parents, right? To keep some kind of magic alive for our kids as long as we’re able?
“The way you feel? The things you can’t explain? The wonder and joy? That’s all real,” says Denker.
And it shouldn’t be fleeting. The trick is to look for ways to create and preserve it, wherever we can — not just once in a while, when the sun goes down. As a friend wisely texted me when I shared this story with her: “Believing in magic is a child’s bridge to believing in possibility.” That’s the best gift we can give them.