First, a disclaimer.

I love my parents.  I respect them.  I even admire them.  Love, respect and admiration have been accurate descriptors of how I’ ve felt about them, well, since I was a kid.

Actually, I don’t remember being a kid.

I’ve heard people discuss how their parents never argued in front of them, or how they never heard their parents speak ill of anyone, and certainly not of each other.

That is so antithetical to the way that I was brought up.  Sometimes, I have a hard time believing those people are telling the truth in the first place.

Could it be?

That some parents don’t fight about money, extended family, or work in front of their kids.

Could it be?

That some parents understand that when you diminish the child’s other parent in front of them that this same child will feel so much… less about who they are.

Could it be?

That some parents understand that their children will take time to grow up.

That children don’t magically fall into the strength of adulthood.

That childhood is an emotional journey that must be, above all, facilitated by the parent.  By both parents.

It’s funny that, after all those years, my parents get along pretty well, now.

They don’t remember that decade or so of my childhood when our family was in a constant state of crisis.

They shake their heads at our insolence and I think they wonder whether bringing up their kids in America wasn’t a mistake, after all.  They want to blame everything and everyone for the distance between us and them.

It’s just that they’ve forgotten that … they never treated us like kids.  They treated us more like… a much younger brother and sister.  I look at photos of myself and my brother as children and see so much wisdom in our eyes.  Too much wisdom.  A child shouldn’t know what “walking on eggshells” means until they’re… well, not a child anymore.

We had to know our place in terms of family hierarchy, yet we were expected to play emotional spousal substitute for them as they saw fit.

It was painful.  It was difficult.  It was unnatural.

It’s made my relationship with my parents fairly awkward for the most part.  When they try to ask me how I’m feeling, or give well intentioned advice about how I should raise my daughter, I don’t know how to make them understand that their decision to start acting like parents is just too late.

If we weren’t children then, we certainly aren’t now, either.

As kids, MBTD and I were expected to handle anything without complaint.  This doesn’t mean that we didn’t complain.  Actually, I did. A lot.  But the emotions behind those complaints were never treated as justifiable.  They were treated as weaknesses, not as the normal childlike reactions that they were.

My childhood?

I remember being a negotiator.

I remember being a reluctant therapist.

I remember being a reason to fight.

I remember being a reason to endure tribulation.

I remember being a weapon used to hurt someone.

I remember thinking I should be stronger.

I remember feeling like I wasn’t enough.

I remember thinking if I were just a little bit better, I could make them happier.

I remember never being able to assume that either of my parents would unconditionally be on my side.

I remember being extremely cautious about who I really trusted.

I really don‘t remember ever just being a kid.

So, I never thought it was a big deal that I don’t plan on allowing the mythical figures of the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy to take hold in my children’s lives as factual beings.

Apparently, this makes me an evil witch whose fun lies in sucking all the imagination and creativity out of my kid’s life?

Well, I always wanted to be an evil witch when I grew up, so that works out.

As usual, let me reiterate, if you do not know by now, that I’d never, ever look down on a parent who chooses to raise their children differently.

I recognize that there is a benefit to be had in terms of fostering imaginations and creating a magical atmosphere around the holidays.

For me, though?  The risks outweigh the benefits when I consider the values I want to impart on my offspring.  And I think they’ll turn out imaginative and creative even if they never believe in Santa.

The Easter Bunny and Santa are easy for me to explain away because I don’t celebrate Christmas and Easter.

(But, sometimes, I do wonder how Christians feel about these characters’ dominance over the whole reason those holidays are celebrated.  I mean, Santa is fun and all, but with Jesus being so downright groovy, why do you need someone else involved?  Not judging, just wondering.)

I think there’s a difference between pretend and belief.  Pretend is a conscious decision to engage in creativity without bounds.  Belief in a mythical figure past the age of 4 or 5 feels like a lie to me.

In response to those of you who are atheists, I don’t believe that God, Muhammad, Jesus, Mary, or Abraham were “mythical” figures, therefore I have no problem promoting belief in them.  Just FYI.

The fact is that I cannot perpetuate something I know to be untrue once my children are old enough to understand the difference between truth and lies.

Mostly because I am a horrible liar, but partly because I have this thing about minimizing contradictions within the lessons that I teach my children.

A lie… is a lie.

And while I won’t go so far as to say there’s never a good reason to lie, I will say that “it’s fun” is not a good enough reason for me.

I do promise, however, to strongly discourage my child from telling your child that Santa is not real.  That would be intolerable to me as it represents … ahem, well, intolerance.

And plus, I don’t want your kids to beat up my kids.

Totally disagree with me?  Think I’m completely nuts? 

Calling child services as we speak?!

Good.

Tune in tonight, Wednesday, April 28 at 9p.m. EST and listen to Clearly, You’re Retarded.

I’m filling in for Miss Britt because, apparently, she has a life outside of the Internet?!!

You can join the army of Avitablites that will be ganging up on me.

Or if you agree, please, definitely, at least, consider showing up.  I have a feeling I’m going to need some serious back up tonight.

If you can’t make it, the show is available for download, as well.