What is real...

Sometimes raising children is a trippy experience.

They tend to say deep things at unexpected moments. They ask philosophical questions that you just can't answer. And that's frustrating, as a parent...because I don't want to answer with, "Just because."

Lately Thalia is obsessed with figuring out what is real and what's not...as far as movies and stories and such. She's a big fan of Labyrinth...if you don't know the movie then I have nothing more to say to you. I rented it once, and the kids both loved it. So I bought them a copy recently, which made Thalia screech with excitement. And the bonus features show the making of the movie, which I thought would be cool. But in a way I wish she'd never seen how the movie was made. I think it took some of the magic out of it for her. She doesn't seem any less enthralled when she watches...but now she has to relay how each puppet was done in each part...how the adorable British worm that talks to Sarah in the beginning is actually just a little finger puppet manipulated by someone behind a wall...how the green hands that make themselves into faces before dropping Sarah into the Oubliette are just gloves...etc. What fun is that? It's cool to know...but when you're 5, isn't it enough to just be fascinated by not knowing? Isn't it enough to believe in magic? To think the world is an astounding place full of mystery?

Not for her.

Not that I can blame her. I think I found less mystery in the world when I was her age than I do now. I didn't believe in God, I didn't believe in ghosts, and I was fascinated by science. The one thing I did believe in was Santa and his posse. Because my parents told me he was real. And I never imagined they'd be lying to me. Parents don't do that, right? Now, Santa didn't make sense, that's for sure. But I was told he existed, and every Christmas there were presents under the tree that no one else took credit for. So I believed. My friends found out the truth and tried to ruin it for me, but I never doubted my faith in Santa. They couldn't shake me. I would make up stories to support my stance. "Well I saw Rudolph's nose glowing last year. So he must be real." Or, "I saw the shadow of a giant bunny on the wall this Easter. What do you say to that?"

Then, when I was much too old, my dad sat me down one day -- I think it was the fourth of July -- and asked me if I believed in magic. I think it was a trick question. He knew that my brain liked logic. But he couldn't fool me. "I don't," I said, "except for Santa and the Easter Bunny and stuff." No, no one was going to get me to say there was no Santa of my own accord. So he finally had to just flat out tell me. And it broke my heart. And it shook my faith in my parents. I was comforted by the idea that some higher being was watching me and rewarding me for my good deeds. They told me there was no God, but I liked having Santa watching out for me. Then they took that away. What else had they lied about?

So I find it really hard to keep the magic for my children. I didn't even plan to do Santa with them. But we do it, because I've been pressured to by everyone around me. But I half-ass it. I use my own handwriting when writing "From Santa." I use the same wrapping paper for the Santa gifts that I use for the gifts from me. When she asks me if Santa is real, I don't EVER say yes. I just ask her if she thinks he's real. When she asks me how he gets in if we don't have a chimney, I just ask her what she thinks. She always comes up with some explanation. I just shrug and say maybe. I'm not on board with lying to my kids.

But maybe I should be. Maybe I really am making their childhood less magical. Maybe I shouldn't explain that Jareth is actually not a Goblin King, but that he's really a great musician named David Bowie, and would they like to listen to his music? That's not his real hair, but a crazy wig. And no, he's not really throwing the baby around -- that's just a doll. No, Sarah and Toby aren't really brother and sister. In fact, there is no Sarah. Her real name is Jennifer Connelly...okay, you get the idea. Thalia LOVES knowing all this stuff. She's constantly asking me questions now about reality. "So this isn't real, Mommy, right? It's just a story!"

Am I wrong for telling the truth?