Benedict Vanheems: Santa needs support in our cynical world
This was my first year dressing up as Father Christmas, having recently become a dad to my now 15-month-old daughter. It wasn't a tough crowd: five just-about-to-be-toddlers sitting distractedly in their mothers' laps. I'm not sure what they expected but what they got was a somewhat clumsy Claus, booming in his deepest voice: "Ho, ho, ho!"
The parents rolled around in hysterics. Their offspring just looked bemused. Presents were dished out and awkward pats on the head given. My own daughter squirmed in my wife's arms as she tried to escape. But I think I pulled it off. Aside from terrifying little Isla, the other children seemed content enough.
Aside from the itchy polyester outfit, I have to admit I rather enjoyed the experience. And while the little 'uns were too young to really appreciate the drama, by next Christmas they will be old enough to take it all in and will no doubt be full of intrigue at my festive party crasher act. Or at least I hope so.
Father Christmas needs our support in today's cynical world. He is the embodiment of a gentler age – when innocent wonder and excitement were allowed to continue well into childhood, and youngsters weren't cajoled into becoming mini-adults before they were ready. It is important to preserve that enchantment for as long as possible. As I watch my daughter grow up I can't wait to share this with her.
Bella Mackie: I was horrified by the truth
Sitting at a table surround by adults, as Sunday lunch was served, I felt inordinately smug that I'd escaped the kids' table for once in my life. As we ate, someone mentioned the impending festive period, and talk turned to presents, carols and Santa. Perhaps forgetting that there was a child at the table, the bearded gift-giver was soon being discussed by the adults in a strangely cynical way. To my horror, I realised that I was inadvertently hearing the truth about a vast conspiracy that had dogged me throughout my childhood. "Santa isn't real, dad!" I yelled.
Only then did the adults realise what their careless talk had meant, and rapidly shushed me for fear that the smaller children would hear. Bravely, I would not be silenced. "If Santa isn't real, then neither is the Easter Bunny," I gasped, while my parents tried to stop my heroic whistleblowing. Since all it takes for evil to prevail is one good seven-year-old to do nothing, I continued to crack the case wide open: "And what about the tooth fairy?"
I got up to tell my sister, but was waylaid by an adult offering me chocolate cake in exchange for my silence. To this day, I regret that I allowed my principles to be bought with sugar, but I was young and naive.
Masuma Rahim: Belief in the magical is critical to development
Many of us are introduced to popular mythological characters such as Father Christmas early on in life. Acceptance of such myths hinges on children trusting those around them – usually their parents – sufficiently to suspend their disbelief long enough to place teeth under pillows and to leave carrots and milk by the fireplace. When finally disabused of the lie, children have to accept that the world is less magical than they supposed – and that their parents are capable of deceit.
Unlike ghosts and monsters, usually presented as imaginary, adults go to great lengths to maintain the illusion of the portly gentleman in the red suit. Classic developmental psychology theorises that young children are often unable to distinguish reality from fantasy but that this ability to believe in the magical is critical to overall development, including enhanced emotional awareness.
But what impact does discovering the truth have on young children? Parents are often disinclined to reveal their deception, despite the inevitability of their child eventually uncovering the fiction. In reality, grasping that your parents are flawed is unlikely to have any long-term adverse effects (and it is a realisation likely to occur repeatedly throughout one's life).
This process of finding out has been described as a rite of passage, marking the end of childhood and a transformation from blind belief to scepticism. There is little harm in believing in Father Christmas and there may well be benefits. Belief in the mystical is rarely tolerated in adulthood – it would be a shame if it were no longer allowed in childhood.
Ally Fogg: The magic of Christmas is real
When our elder son was about four or five, he went through a phase of untangling the diverse, improbable nonsense he picked up from the adult world around him. He would scrunch up his eyebrows, tilt his head and ask:
"Are fairies really real?"
"Are pirates really real?"
"Are scientists really real?"
As December loomed on the horizon, the inevitable occurred: "Is Father Christmas really real?" I certainly hope so, I replied, because otherwise where would all those presents come from?
That little cherub is now at an age where Santa stuffs his stocking with a copy of Zombie Slaughterbastard III and some weapons-grade Clearasil, while his little brother, aged six, is quietly, forensically piecing together evidence of parental mendacity out of one eye while the other glances out of the window in hope of catching a glimpse of a reindeer.
This Christmas Eve, just like every year, we shall prepare for bedtime by hanging a stocking at the end of the bed, leaving a mince pie and a small glass of malt whisky for Santa (he prefers an aged Islay in our house; you can keep your sherry) and, of course, a carrot for Rudolph.
By Christmas morning there is a full stocking, an empty glass, a few crumbs and most of a carrot (for some reason Rudolph never seems to be very hungry). "How did we not wake up?" the boys will ask, and just like every year the answer will be the magic of Christmas. And that is real.
Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett: Don't let Christmas lose its meaning
Adults who tell other people's children that Santa doesn't exist are the worst. Thankfully, it never happened to me, but I know people who have been victims of this and who still bear a grudge against the cruel or tactless grown-up in question. When you have bought into a fictional character so wholly as to leave food out in anticipation of their arrival – not just for them but also for their pets – it really should be your own parents who break the devastating news.
I was six and furious when I found out. According to my mother, there is a chapter in Little Women in which the characters discover Father Christmas doesn't exist and her reading this to me at bedtime led to a direct question about the man's existence. Unable to lie, she spilled the beans, busting the whole sordid scheme wide open.
I wasn't angry at the deception – I already knew my parents were capable of lying to me. I was angry because I knew that I was too young to confront the nihilistic truth that Christmas was suddenly devoid of meaning or purpose.
Now, of course, you can simply Google "is Santa real?" (778m results) and I have no doubt that many children have become hardened to the truth at a younger age than I did. But back in the 90s, my friends continued believing for several years after my revelation. I would have rather basked in blissful ignorance, so I never told a soul.
• How did you find out? And how do you perpetuate the myth? Share your stories below
