We never talked much about Santa in my family. I don’t remember ever believing that a jolly man in a red coat delivered toys to children all around the world. To me, it was just a fun story — just like all the other stories I enjoyed so much as a kid.
My father wasn’t sure whether any of us believed in Santa Claus, but he figured it out one Christmas season as we were all walking through a department store one evening.
“Look, Daddy,” said my youngest sister, who was about 4 at the time. She was pointing to the department store Santa with children in line to visit him. “There’s an old man dressed up like Santa Claus.”
We enjoyed Christmas stories — about Santa and Frosty and the Grinch, among others — but we knew they were fantasies. I was never told at home that Santa was real or that he wasn’t real. I just knew it was a fun story.
So why do so many people get angry about the question of kids and Santa?

I can force child to obey me, but obedience comes with high cost
Without things to look forward to, the human heart gets ready to die
He couldn’t mold her into himself, but my dad broke Mother’s spirit