When Does Pretending Become Lying?

As I re-read my third journal entry, I notice that I entered into a pretend game that Mindy had started by leaving a note purportedly from an elf. And I “lied” about it: I said, “I didn't write it.”

Only thing is, I wasn't lying.

I was playing. I was pretending. The kids knew the note was really from me—I hadn't disguised my handwriting (or, rather, printing), and I even used the same pen I had been using all day writing in my journal.

So, that exonerates me, right?

This rhetorical (and rather silly) question touches on the subject of fantasy characters that our entire society seems to claim are real. Namely, the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, and Santa Claus.

Many of us feel pretty comfortable pretending these things for our kids. It's fun! Most of us had these characters in our own childhoods, and we often have fond memories surrounding their names. It's not lying...is it?

But when kids start to question these characters, it can be tricky. When do we continue the fantasy (that is, lie)? When do we answer truthfully? How far should we take such fun pretenses?

Some parents hate the idea of lying to their kids and always present these characters as fun fantasies. (Of course, non-Christian parents have an entirely different set of challenges regarding two out of three of these characters!)

I did do the tooth fairy thing. I also hid eggs. I ate cookies left for Santa and put presents in stockings. But, when I was doing all that fun stuff, I made sure there were PLENTY of clues that my kids could use to figure reality out, when they were ready to. For example, if Santa left a thank you note on top of the cookie crumbs, or left a gift with a gift tag, he used my writing. If he wrapped a gift, he used the same wrapping paper I used. It really wasn't too hard to figure out.

Mindy asked if Santa was real when she was about five years old. I asked, “Do you really want to know?”

She said yes, so I told her that her dad and I played Santa by putting presents in the stockings and under the tree. I said some mish-mash kind of stuff—you know, the idea of Santa (as a form of love or a spirit of giving) is real, stuff like that. Then I told her that she shouldn't ever ruin the pretend game about Santa for other kids—especially not younger kids. “Can you keep playing pretend about Santa?” I asked.

She solemnly agreed to do so and never, to my knowledge, broke that promise. She seemed really pleased to be in on a secret.

Wow, that went so well!

I vowed I would do the same thing with Lindsey – wait until she asked, check to be sure she really wanted to know, and then tell her truth.

Flash forward two + years. Lindsey was five or six and had reservations about the tooth fairy, who had supposedly made a visit to our house the night before.

“Mom, is the tooth fairy real, or do you put the money under the pillow?”
“Do you really want to know?” I asked.
“Yes!!!”
“Well, I put the money under the pillow. But it's fun to pretend about the tooth fairy, so we can keep pretending if you want.”
“Yes, I do!” Lindsey said. She's a smart cookie. Pretending would undoubtedly keep the money flowing.

A few minutes later, everybody else had gone on to other things. But Lindsey interrupted us, asking,

“What about the Easter bunny, Mom? Is that real?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes!”
“Well, your dad and I get the things for the Easter baskets and hide the eggs, too. But don't you find it fun to pretend?”

Lindsey seemed so pleased. I think she'd always been nervous that a real, large (some of the baskets were fairly large, so it stood to reason that the bunny carrying them would be jumbo-sized, too) rabbit sometimes roamed around the house. I was pretty sure that Lindsey was pleased that she'd figured all this stuff out, too. She agreed to keep on pretending about the Easter bunny.

A minute or two later, she asked the final question.

Notice, it was phrased a little differently:

“But Santa's real, right?”

The way she put it made me gulp a little. It sounded to me like Santa was in an ENTIRELY different category than those other two fantasy characters. But I was in truth-telling mode, so I asked, “Do you really want to know?”

At that point Lindsey did know, and she was really, really disappointed. I can't even remember what happened—what she said, what I said, whether or not she cried. I remember it was a painful moment for me, probably because it was a very painful moment for her.

It wasn't devastating or long-lasting, thank goodness, but I wondered what I had done wrong:

Was my mistake playing Santa (that is, lying to my kids) in the first place?
Was my mistake telling Lindsey the truth before she was really ready – and, believe me, I knew that she was going to be disappointed from the way she phrased the question!
Or did I honestly not make a mistake? Maybe things just played out the way they played out, end of story. We can't spare our kids every disappointment.

But...I'm not positive about any of this...