As I made my way upstairs to bid goodnight, I found her in tears. “What’s the matter?” I inquired, feeling a wave of concern. Had she hurt herself? Was she watching those heartbreaking videos about animals in distress again?
“I saw you,” she sobbed, wiping her nose with her hand. “I saw you setting out the Easter Bunny stuff.” Her chin quivered as a tear rolled down her cheek.
My heart sank. I thought I had been discreet enough. It was 10 p.m., and while I knew my daughter, Ava, was still awake—she’s quite the night owl—she typically remained in her room. But this time, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Perhaps she heard the rustling of bags or sensed my movements as I arranged the Easter surprises. In any case, she had caught a glimpse of the truth.
At nine years old, Ava is on the brink of leaving childhood behind, teetering between being a little kid and a tween. Many of her peers no longer believe in the magic of figures like Santa Claus. Whispers about the truth have circulated since second grade. Yet, Ava chooses to maintain her faith. Maybe she desires to cling to that belief, aware of her transition into a new phase of life.
I hesitated, frozen in the doorway of her room. Should I reveal the truth, or prolong the magic just a little longer? “The Easter Bunny can’t be everywhere at once,” I found myself responding. The magic would remain; I wasn’t ready to let go. By the look in Ava’s eyes, I sensed she wasn’t ready either. “Sometimes parents lend a hand.”
I held my breath, anticipating an accusation of dishonesty. If she confronted me, I’d have to come clean. “So that’s why I see the same things in my Target basket,” Ava said, a flicker of understanding behind her tear-filled eyes.
“Yes,” I replied, relieved. “That’s why.” I settled beside her, and she nestled into my lap, resting her head on my shoulder. I often wonder if she’ll always seek comfort there when she’s upset. I cherish these moments, conscious that they may be fleeting.
Some friends advised me to tell her the truth. “My kids stopped believing in the Easter Bunny by age six. You should just let her know,” they said. Perhaps they’re right. But I want to hold on to the magic a little longer, knowing what lies ahead—crushes, friendship dilemmas, and questions about fashion choices.
Yes, there’s still time for magic. I smile, grateful that Ava still believes an umbrella can help her soar like Mary Poppins. I’m delighted she finds joy in dressing up as her favorite characters from movies, and that she thinks her stuffed animals have feelings and enjoy our meals too.
One day, she’ll discover the truth about the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, and her beloved costumes may end up packed away. But that day isn’t today, and for that, I am thankful.
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In Summary
As children grow, parents often grapple with the decision of when to reveal the truth about beloved childhood figures. It’s a delicate balance between fostering magic and preparing them for the realities of life. Holding onto these magical moments is essential, as they won’t last forever.