Childhood myths will be missed

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 13/02/2023 (1297 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

While grocery shopping with my seven-year-old daughter the other day, she stopped me out of the blue and asked, “Do you think the Easter Bunny is real?”

Uh, what?

There we were, standing in the paper towel aisle. I stopped walking, with my gaze bouncing from object to object as I tried to collect the thoughts that raced ahead of me. My daughter calmly looked up at me from the shopping cart, waiting for an answer.

“What do you think?” I replied, fumbling with my words.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” she explained.

“How so?” I replied.

“I’ve never seen a magical bunny,” she said.

“What do your friends think?” I asked her.

“We don’t talk about it much,” she said.

I am not sure whether she could sense my weirdness or whether something else caught her attention. The conversation sort of faded out before I told her something she already seems to know.

Whew.

This was the second time in as many months that she has started to connect the dots and make sense of the magic and myth we feed our kids. Both times, I was bowled over with the realization that I am not ready for this conversation. It feels much too soon. I thought we’d have more time. (In both instances, the conversation petered out.)

I was in Grade 6 when I learned the truth about Santa. I know what you’re thinking… “Grade 6, really?” Yes, that’s right. I wasn’t exploiting the situation to garner more gifts. I was holding onto that magic for dear life. I wanted to believe in Santa so badly, so I did. Perhaps it was denial, or perhaps it was naiveté wrapped in whimsy. Who knows? I only know that I believed in the big guy. Even when I heard rumblings from kids my age who didn’t believe, I thought they had it wrong.

When my mom finally told me about the make-believe that every single grownup and big kid was already in on regarding Santa and all his other holiday associates, I felt sort of like my bubble had been popped. I wasn’t completely stunned, because I knew there was a chance the kids who didn’t believe were right. But wanting to believe in Santa was enough for me not to think harder about it. I know this sounds absurd given my age at the time and the fact even my younger sister had put it together long before I did, but that was my experience.

A quick Google search shows honesty is the best policy when these critical questions come up, and that like everything else, this is another rite of passage.

I know this sounds over the top and blown out of proportion, and I realize my reaction to my daughter’s question and growth is more about me than her. But I am not ready for this conversation. I am not ready for my baby to grow out of this stage, or all the rest that she and her sisters are growing out of too fast.

It’s a real conundrum watching your kids grow up. On the one hand, it’s the greatest privilege in the world. On the other hand, there is such grief as you usher them into the next stage of life while saying goodbye to (or realizing you never had a chance to say goodbye to) the person they’ve grown out of.

When she asks again, I will be ready, and I will be honest with her and with myself. It is, after all, my job to be truthful and guide her through the stages of life, helping her grow and think critically about the world around her.

But it feels a bit sad to move past this part.

shelley.cook@Freepress.mb.ca

Twitter @ShelleyACook