Ever since my children were little, I have had an aversion to the whole Santa tradition. It’s not that I want to rob my children of the magic that is Santa. I just have a hard time lying to them.
Several years ago, one of my students wrote a humor piece about the horror that transpired in his house when his 11-year-old daughter discovered Santa wasn’t real. He wrote about how crushed his daughter was when she found out, and also his shock that she still believed in Santa Claus. Then this year, I read through multiple threads in various Facebook groups started by parents who were shattered because their children discovered Santa isn’t real — and both children and parents were devastated.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one chewing on this theme as an essay idea. The New York Times published a story about Santa and lying earlier this month. By then I had already submitted an essay to The Washington Post titled “Why we haven’t introduced our children to Santa Claus.” The piece explained how instead of playing up Santa Claus, we step into the role. But the crux of the essay focused on the idea that while one or more of our children may believe in Santa Claus, we’re not the ones selling the idea to them. A few snippets from that story:
I dreaded having the discussion that Santa was a farce — that we had lied to them. I didn’t like the connection between behavior and getting stuff, particularly because with late nights, sugar-laden treats and exhausting holiday festivities, we’re setting our kids up to behave badly. And I’m not about to follow through on Santa’s threat of delivering coal on Christmas morning. Plus, I feared that initial lie could set the stage for bigger, more complex lies down the line.
How could I explain why Santa doesn’t bring lavish gifts to poor children? Or why people who follow different traditions don’t believe in Santa? Or, equally important, why Santa is a white guy, not an elderly woman or an African American?
After several rounds with my trusted writer pals, I was happy with the piece. My editor? She thought our “yes Santa,” “no Santa” tradition was confusing (admittedly it is) and she wanted a complete overhaul.
“I know you’re not self-righteous at all! That is why I want to be careful to not put it out there that way, and then have the commenters (oh, the commenters) plow you down. I do think your tradition is very sweet and a great idea, and focusing on that could make a great piece, but I understand how busy you are. Take the weekend, think about it, and then we can touch base on Monday.”
My inclination after reading that message was to throw up my hands and walk away, to let the piece languish on my hard drive for another year and try a different outlet come 2020. But after spending some time outlining a new approach, I figured I SHOULD give it a whirl. After all, this is The Washington Post. So, I did it. It was hard. It didn’t flow easily. And I hated my attempt. But the point of this newsletter is not to tell you how much it sucks to rewrite an essay, particularly in the midst of a frenetic schedule, an impending vacation and several looming deadlines. It’s to SHOW you just how important it is to find your tribe when it comes to your writing.
Within 48 hours of discovering that I had to overhaul what I viewed as a personal masterpiece, I heard from not one, not two, but FIVE of my trusted reviewers — and all of them responded over a busy weekend during the mad month of December.
Their comments not only made the piece sing, but they also convinced me to buy the editor’s perspective. The end result: I sidestepped nasty commenters and I gradually started to like the new story.
A few of their heartwarming messages (in no particular order):
AWESOME WOMAN 1: I understand your spirits are feeling a little crushed, so let’s also address right now how much it SUCKS to have to do a rewrite like this.
AWESOME WOMAN 2: Ugh, I’m so sorry! No one ever wants to hear “complete overhaul.” It’s so, so hard to “kill your darlings” and on such short notice, especially when your first essay was fantastic the way it was. Boo! Grieve for that piece, and then shake it off and try to move on.
AWESOME WOMAN 3: I’m sorry about this! Definitely frustrating. If you want to overhaul it, I’m happy to help … I do like the giving aspect of your piece. You’ve got this!
AWESOME WOMAN 4: So frustrating, but I really think she was looking out for you and how it could be misconstrued by the comment crazies!! I think what you’ve done (with the overhaul) is great!
AWESOME WOMAN 5: So awesome woman number 5 wrote an entire newsletter in response (and gave me permission to share it here). Her name: Judi Ketteler. I’m sure you’ve heard it before because I tend to gush about her in my classes and share her work though this newsletter. In any case, I was so mesmerized by her levelheaded brilliance that I’ve included several graphs below.
I actually think the Drop and Dash one is strong. I think it could give families a great idea for how to give back — whether or not they want to flip the Santa thing. But if you lead with not doing Santa, as the original one does, I have a sense you’ll lose a lot of people who won’t get to the drop and dash thing. It will become about how you are robbing your kids of something and people won’t get the second part (even if they read it, they won’t get it). They’ll fixate.
I also understand wanting to tell the story you want to tell. I have been there, too!
So, I would take a few steps back and try to figure out who your reader is and WHY you want to tell this story TO THEM right now. What do you want them to get out of it? Is it about them, or is saying your peace more important — like you want to tell YOUR story and it’s not about a message for others (that’s fair — I have written pieces like that). But think about which kind of piece you want this to be.
For example, if a parent is already doing Santa and here it is December-something, they are going to feel defensive. Or, they might agree with what you’re saying and feel like, “oh crap, I don’t want to do Santa anymore!” But it’s pretty much too late once you start. And definitely too late in December. So where does that leave them? My point is that talking to parents who already do Santa (even if they are on the fence about it and starting to question it) and explaining why you don’t do it is a little bit like explaining birth control to pregnant people. It’s kind of moot.
But any parent, no matter where they are in the Santa fable or what they’ve told their kids about Santa or how old their kids are, can get something from the idea of random acts of kindness and the drop and dash. To me, that’s a stronger message.
What if you went with the drop and dash essay and then, next year at some point, pitch a story for an audience of expecting parents or parents of very young children about “things that can sneak up on you if you don’t decide when your kids are young”? You’d need better wording than that! But you get the idea. Santa is one of those things. I’m sure there are others.
And that, my writer friends, is why essayists tend to thrive when they have a trusted group of writer pals who are willing to HONESTLY react to their work. Not only do they help you see the forest through the trees, they can even lead you to an entirely NEW forest to explore (as Judi did).
The truth is, after spending more time with the piece, I realized my editor saved me from a whole lot of inner turmoil and even more online vitriol. I reframed the essay highlighting the drop-and-dash adventures, per her suggestion, and I think it actually works better. It became a feel-good piece rather than a treatise on the Santa tradition. And shockingly (at least to me), even this version elicited some nasty comments. Go figure!
One thing is certain: Without this group of women blowing wind in my sails, there is NO way I could have pulled off the overhaul. In the end though, I think they helped me produce a piece that allowed for less negative energy around what has become a sacred tradition for my family.
A side note on privacy: During one of our drop and dash adventures, our boys were caught on the “Ring” doorbell system. It was a bungled drop. The boys forgot the gift in the car on the first attempt and had to run back, get the gift and then make the drop. I shared the videos with my editor just for kicks. She loved them so much she wanted to publish the piece with the second video (not shown here).
When I showed the boys the video to get their sign off, my son, Max, wasn’t pleased. He didn’t like the way his hand looked as he was ringing the bell. So, sadly, the piece ran without it. But as I’ve said in previous newsletters, getting sources’ approval, especially when they’re your own children, is part of my personal rubric. If you’re interested in watching the first video — the Max-approved one — you can see it here. Just start “play” about 45 seconds in.
Happy Holidays!!!
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