(Like many Scandinavians, we’re an atheist family, and I’ve sworn never to lie to my kids. I have never tried to convince them that there are tooth fairies, Easter bunnies, et cetera, and have instead taught them that these are just ancient customs that people follow for fun and for tradition. Our family celebrates all holidays, just not in a religious way. It’s just before Christmas; it’s snowing heavily as we’re driving in the darkness on a back road with my three young sons. Old Christmas jingles are playing on the radio, creating that warm and fuzzy Christmas feeling.)

Me: *jokingly* “Well, boys, have you been nice this year? Do you think Santa Claus is going to bring you presents or just charcoal?”

(Note: naughty children traditionally get charcoal from Santa in some countries.)

Five-Year-Old Son: *upset* “There is no Santa Claus! It’s just a fairy tale, just like Easter Bunny and Jesus!”

Me: “Well, yes, that’s true.”

(I’m quickly deprived of my Christmas spirit and start thinking, “You reap what you sow…”)

Five-Year-Old Son: “Besides, you buy the Christmas presents, not elves!”

Me: *smiling* “All the more reason not to be naughty, isn’t it?”

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(My father is a large man with a bushy white beard, still tinged with his original red, and wears small, gold-rimmed glasses. He gets called ‘Santa’ by everyone from little kids to random strangers. My parents are on a flight and there is a young mother with a very problematic young boy. The mother is clearly trying very hard to control her son, but he is running all over the plane, getting in the stewardesses’ way, and generally bothering people. Suddenly, he sees my father and stops dead in his tracks.)

Boy: “It’s Santa!”

Dad: *booming* “That’s right! And if you keep acting like this, you’re not getting anything this year!”

(The boy immediately runs back to his seat, sits down and shuts up.)

Mother: *mouths* “Thank you!”

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(My sister and I have long outgrown Santa Claus, but our mother still tells us to ‘ask Santa’ when we want something that she either doesn’t want to buy or simply can’t afford at the moment. My sister is leaning against mom, pointing to an item she wants.)

Sister: “Mooooooooommy?”

Mom: “Ask Santa!”

*long silence*

Sister: *leaning against mom, pointing to the item again* “Saaaaaaaaanta?”

(It is Christmas, and my mother is visiting. I walk into the kitchen to find my seven-year-old son at the fridge holding a tube of cookie decorating frosting, essentially pure sugar. He is about to squeeze the entire tube in his mouth.)

Me: “Whoa! What do you think you’re doing? Were you going to squeeze this whole tube in your mouth?”

Son: *matter-of-fact tone of voice* “Yeah.”

Me: *dumbfounded* “Oh, and who said you could do that?”

Son: “Nonna!” *Italian for grandmother*

Me: *to his grandmother* “Hey, Ma. Did you give [Son] permission to eat this whole tube of cookie decorating sugar?”

Grandmother: *with an Italian accent* “Eh, sure, why not?”

Me: *speechless* “Uh, excuse me. If I had tried to do this when I was his age, what would you have done?”

Grandmother: “Oh, I would give you uno scupollone al tuo culletto!” *A paddle on your little butt!*

Me: *pointing to my son* “And now?”

Grandmother: *waving me off* “Ah! Now wadda I care! I’ma da grandma!”

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(It’s Christmas and my dad hands me my gift which is very obviously iPod-shaped.)

Me: “Oh, boy, I hope it’s a puppy!” *starts chanting* “Puppy, puppy, puppy, puppy…”

Sister: *joins in* “Puppy, puppy, puppy, puppy…”

Dad: “You two are morons.”

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