I have two little girls. Two completely different little girls, each curious and sensitive in her own way. Until last year, they both wholeheartedly believed in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
The older one is 11, and she still believes. Or maybe she just chooses to believe. Maybe she realizes that the magic is fragile and prefers not to break it. Or maybe she truly still has that innocence that makes her eyes sparkle when she sees the Christmas lights on the tree. I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll find out someday.
The younger one, 9 years old, came to me one day, determined and a little anxious:
— “Mom, I want to know the truth. Does Santa Claus really exist?”
She said she had overheard her classmates laughing, saying Santa wasn’t real and that parents just buy all the gifts. I wasn’t ready for this conversation. I would have loved to delay it, to enjoy one more winter immersed in the magic of the story, but I felt it couldn’t wait any longer.
So I told her:
— “I want you to know that if you’re ready to hear the truth, we can talk. But once we have this conversation, nothing will ever be the same. You might like what you hear, or you might not. But there’s no going back from this.”
She looked me in the eyes, serious, and said she was ready. She also promised that our conversation would stay just between us. Her older sister was not to be involved “under any circumstances.”
I started by asking what she believed. She said Santa couldn’t be real because “we don’t have a chimney.” I smiled. “That’s not proof,” I told her. “Santa has magical powers. If he wants to, he can get in through the keyhole.”
Then I explained that Santa Claus exists for those who believe in him. That each of us can be Santa for someone — by giving a gift, bringing joy, or helping a stranger. That the magic doesn’t disappear; it just transforms.
She understood. She accepted it. And at the same time, she seemed delighted that she now knew the “secret.” That she could even go to the store with me to pick out her own gift.
“But be careful,” I said with a laugh, “sometimes when you learn the truth, Santa gets a little upset and might not come the same way again.”
Our conversation about Santa quickly moved to St. Nicholas and inevitably to the Tooth Fairy. Yet she kept the secret perfectly. Any discussion about Santas or fairies is avoided when her sister is around. She shows a tender, mature care I hadn’t seen before.
But I keep asking myself since then:
Did I make a mistake letting them believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy?
Or are parents wrong when they tell their children directly that Santa isn’t real, just to “not lie”?
Until what age is it okay to keep the magic alive?
Is there a right moment when a child “needs to know the truth”?
When I was little, I believed in Santa too — but somehow, I also knew he couldn’t bring me everything I wanted. It was a belief mixed with the realism of life.
Today, I look at my little girls and see two very different ways of experiencing childhood:
one dreamy, artistic, with a storyteller’s soul;
the other rational, curious, with the mind of a little detective.
And despite their differences, neither asks for expensive gifts. Maybe because I always told them that Santa brings what he can, from what he has. That if Santa could bring everyone everything they wanted, there would be no poor children, no homeless people, no unfulfilled dreams.
Maybe the magic isn’t in how much we believe in Santa Claus, but in how much we choose to keep the joy of giving alive. And perhaps that’s the true magic of childhood: the power to give and to preserve wonder in our hearts, even when we know the truth.