​Happy Holiday Hugs from New Hampshire

Over the summer, we told our son, then 12, that he had enough knowledge of the magic of Christmas and that he did not need Santa’s help any longer to find it. We were torn, of course, as parents about ruining Christmas and the magic of his elves, Snowflake and Jingle Bells. But a bigger concern was him going into the seventh grade and having his sensitive little heart smashed by someone older, certainly not wiser, but perhaps more informed in the unbelieving universe. I promised myself we would do it on a happy day, full of sunshine and fun-- maybe after swimming or fishing in the river with friends. Then, maybe, just maybe, pulling off the Band-Aid would not be so terrible.

We sat on my bed, and I broke the news to him about Santa, which he took like a champ at almost 13 years old. However, moments into our discussion, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes and asked, “What does that mean about the elves?” And I thought because he was almost 13, he would be able to connect the dots from Santa, the reindeer, and the elves. Sadly, this was the heartache I had most feared for our boy, long before other people broke his heart. “But I was just so convinced they were real. I just wanted them to be real forever.”

Our elves didn’t really do anything crazy or mischievous, but they wrote many letters back and forth, depositing them in an official ELF mailbox. They also did some scavenger hunts so their Aunt and Uncle, who live in Germany, could participate in the magic of “elfing” over the last few years. While I don’t miss moving the elf or writing letters at night on the brink of exhaustion, I do miss listening to our children talk about the elves in relation to their magic and Santa. But they hold onto the magic in other ways. They love cutting the tree down and helping to decorate the house. This year there is a sort of elf shrine set up on a table when one first enters our home.