flamingo tales

Having many times had the “mum does Santa Claus really exist?” conversation with my now ten-year-old son, tonight we finally had to level with each other about our long-standing disbelief.

Is he real or just a nonsense we inexplicably tell children every year until they are old enough to figure?

At the age of three he had already noted that Father Christmas always uses the same wrapping paper as us, and from then on it was a slippery slope of more skepticism and vague answers from me as to why he doesn’t make a mess if he comes down the chimney and why is it ok to let him anyway since most of the year adults tell children to keep well away from strange old men who offer them things.

Would you like a sweetie little gel?

So this evening he and I hatched a cunning plan to test once and for all the theory that a random old guy in a silly red suit visits our houses during the night once a year.

The theory behind the plan is that since Santa doesn’t like to be identified (remember being told that you mustn’t see him if you want your presents? That was because your parents wanted to be able to get legless without you knowing) there is no way he will willingly give himself up.

We thought that we could use his enormous appetite for Christmas goodies to trap him, by putting a large dose of a sleeping drug into a mince pie and seeing whether we find him snoring gently in our lounge room on Christmas morning.

This is how we might find him if our plan works. Admittedly it would be nicer if he had his clothes on.

However this method was not considered secure enough, so we decided to rig up a cage which would descend harmlessly, trapping him in case the sleeping draught isn’t enough. After all, in all his pictures he is usually the size of Texas so it may take a lot to bring him down.

By the time we had finished we had mentally rigged up all manner of traps, steel doors and portcullis gates to prevent his exit and know the truth once and for all.

I only asked him for a bike....

What we hadn’t thought of was the fact that if he is only half way through his rounds when he falls asleep on our comfy sofa there will be a lot of little darlings with trembling lips on Christmas morning. This seemed churlish to say the least, and in addition we thought we might be struck off his list for future years should he prove to be real. So we decided to abandon the plan and just remain in the dark for another year. Long live St Nick.