When Will Enough Be Enough? Our Anti-PC, Say-Whatever-You-Want Revolution is Finally Ruining Christmas
by Julie A Cajigas
This absolute inhibition and boldness to say literally anything that we want to anyone we encounter (including children) that was formerly the province of that one drunk family member we all dread after every holiday dinner has now leeched into the most sacred personhood of Christmas.
Santa.
I blame politics. No, not any one politician, though I’m sure you all have your own opinions on who made racism great again. We no longer hold truth, justice, and the American way as important values – just the American way. Superman is probably super disappointed in us.
Were politicians ever truthful? Thanks to several documentaries I’ve watched recently, I can confidently say that it’s likely most were not across human history. But I also like to think that there are good ones. I’m excited about Shammas Malik becoming the mayor of Akron this January, for example.
Maybe I’m just one of those people who wistfully looks back to “a simpler time” as I head to the dead center of middle age, but what happened this weekend literally blew my mind.
It’s still blown as I sit in my office this rainy Monday morning.
Listen, I go far out of my way to try and be a tolerant human. I really do want to be accepting of people with alternative political beliefs. That said, I am not going to tolerate rudeness, meanness and/or outright ableism.
We went to a Santa event (as one does).
I’m not going to name the venue or the Santa, and the identities of the wonderful venue owner and staff are being protected because they are awesome. My kids love Santa, especially my ten-year-old daughter, who is on the cusp of leaving it behind.
Now, my ten-year-old is neurodiverse, she struggles with ADHD (as do I). She’s also definitely toward the gifted end of things, and has a unique, existential, and metaphysical way of looking at the world.
What did she ask Santa for? According to her, “I asked him for my daddy to be happier and for my family to be happier and stop fighting.”
Do we fight sometimes? Sure. But, not any more than usual (I don’t think). Just little disagreements and failed negotiations about the burdensome task of doing a good job parenting four children. Given that we have differently abled children, there’s plenty of therapy and support for our family, and we’re doing just fine.
Santa summoned me to the stage, and clasped my hands in his, looked me dead in the eye and said, “I have one request from you my dear, please take your daughter to church.”
Um, wut?
You get the meme spelling of what Santa, not even the real spelling.
I smiled graciously and said OK, and then he said, “When a child asks for something like that, it’s just – so, you’re having problems at home?” I reassured Santa, that no, we do not have problems at home. That my daughter is safe and happy, and yes, there are disagreements and yes conflicts about cleaning up her room, but in general, we are happier than most.
Santa then rattles on something about how he had a little girl who wasn’t in a good environment in the past and “he had to do something about that.” I was mortified. My husband was so mortified (despite not overhearing the conversation) that he looked like he had dissociated.
I wanted to get away from him SO badly. I just kept bobbing my head up and down hoping he would stop.
When it finally ended, I sat with my daughter and explained that Santa thought she wasn’t safe at home. She looked at me with her big brown puppy dog eyes and said “oh, I am safe and have a good family, I just want everyone to be happier.”
I told her that I understood, but Santa didn’t – but that it was no big deal because I told him.
Of course, the minute I looked away; she ran up there for another round with Santa. What she came back with next truly doesn’t compute. You know the GIF of the woman looking at formulas like her brain is going to explode? That was me.
Anyway, she was up there a long time with Santa who was gripping her hands also, which made my uncomfortable. My husband and I sat there playing kid chicken because neither of us wanted to go up there and deal with Santa. Who would go first? Had I known that Santa would say something inappropriate to my child, I would have gone immediately.
Daughter came running back to the table and said, “Santa said don’t worry because if people are on drugs they can get on the straight and narrow.”
Again, wut?
I said, “who is on drugs?”
She said, “I explained to Santa that I have ADHD and he said, ‘no you don’t.’ I told him yes, I do, I take medicine for it that helps, and then he told me that ADHD isn’t real, parents shouldn’t be medicating their children and if I pray to Jesus and get on the straight and narrow, I don’t need medication.”
Wut the?
Later I got more of the story. Santa told her that his son “had ADHD,” (Santa’s air-quotes, not mine) and took drugs, but that Santa got him all straightened out through Jesus, and he didn’t take the drugs anymore. She also said something about drug treatment therapy?
So, what did I tell my TEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD to respond to the many questions she had about Santa and suddenly about herself and if she was disappointing Santa by taking her ADHD med?
Honestly? It took me a minute to wrap my head around the whole thing. On my way out, I let the uber kind venue owner know what happened and she was horrified and promised Santa wouldn’t be back.
The musical act piped up to say that he also observed Santa making inappropriate comments. Perhaps the ones during the Santa Q&A about not giving the Elves health insurance or a salary, which led to my kids and grandma asking if the elves were slaves. Grandma was asking because her mind was blown that Santa would say that.
Now, I don’t know Santa’s political views. And, frankly, I don’t care. How can you tell a ten-year-old child that they don’t have ADHD when they have owned it and claimed their power over it? How do you tell a ten-year-old child that they should get off their doctor prescribed medication that their parents agonized over before starting, and which took weeks and months to titrate? And really, how CAN you do ANY of that when wearing the sacred mantle of Santa?
Can I see your medical license?
I reminded my daughter that the Santas we meet out and about are really Santa’s helpers. And I told her that just like other human beings, some are good, some are bad, and some are ignorant. I told her this Santa’s helper didn’t understand the science behind ADHD and was ignorant.
She said “why did he tell you to take me to church? I already go to church.”
I don’t know dear daughter, I don’t know.
This must stop. How disrespectful for an adult outside of my family to not only pass judgement on our medical choices for our child, but to also tell her in “secret” (he definitely got real close to tell her) that she does not have a disability that she most definitely has. Her preschool teachers knew she had it. Her father knew from the time she was very small.
Again Santa, where’s that MD?
What level of boldness must someone have to push their religion, their medical beliefs, and their own challenges onto a child? How about undermining the child’s parents and what they have taught their child? But, to do so dressed in the sacred garb of dear old St. Nick? Blasphemy, on every level.
I wish I could say that this boldness was a unique case. Lately, I’ve been noticing it everywhere. I remember there being topics that were not considered polite conversation and I remember being taught to respect the religion and culture of others.
I definitely remember being taught about disabilities and being inclusive and kind to everyone. My red-state, Republican parents 100% taught me that everyone should be treated with equity (not just equality) and kindness.
What is happening to us? Nowhere is safe anymore – not even Santa – the symbol of love and hope for generations of Americans.
A friend told me that when he grew up, he used to love the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas because in his rough neighborhood as a kid, he felt safer, and he saw people being kinder and more generous. His face fell as he said that it’s not the case anymore.
Here’s my wish this Christmas:
DO BETTER.
Do better at considering the feelings of others. Do better at being kind and accepting. Do better at knowing when it’s disrespectful to question or comment. Do better at remembering politeness and kindness.
It’s not politically correctness, it’s just kindness. It’s just following the instructions of Santa’s favorite reference, Jesus.
Please do better. Please don’t deadname. Please don’t misgender. Please don’t say ableist things. Please don’t say racist or racially charged things. Please try and respect other religions, cultures, and the absence of either.
Humankind has incredible potential. I felt that potential most during the holiday season when people were a little extra kind and a little extra generous.
Please, do better everyone. I will do my best to do better too.
Happy Holidays <3.
P.S. We went to a second Santa event in the evening and my daughter was anxious about Santa being “the same helper.” She was invited to write a letter to Santa that would be put in the North Pole post.
She wrote “Dear Santa Claus, May I Please have Something nice For Christmas?
PS: (Please Fire the Santa at (redacted). You Know what he Did.)
Written by Julie Cajigas