magic-making in the dark
✨The feedback your kid can't yet give.✨
The day before my daughter’s injury, we shared what she’s described as one of the best days of her life. And for me, too, it ranks up there.
In celebration of her fifteenth birthday, we planned a mother-daughter excursion to NYC to visit a holiday market, eat sushi and see a Broadway show, which are three of her favorite things.
Also, and she hadn’t known it, I’d planned to incorporate into our outing a talk about the magic of Christmas, a topic we’d never before discussed, despite her being a freshman in high school.
You see, one of my values on this parenting journey has been to go all in with holiday magic. And as my kids have become tweens and teens, I’ve privately feared that I’ve been too convincing, too all in. I’m not kidding.
The longevity of their rides as believers have far exceeded any dream I’d imagined for their childhoods. And although I’ve wanted this for them, I also want them to mature in socially appropriate ways. So, with no proof, one way or another, about my oldest child’s authentic thoughts on the big guy, I decided I’d lovingly broach the topic on our NYC date, and do my best to convert her into the world of magic-making.
Halloween had been a few weeks earlier, and in its wake she’d expressed that for the first time in her life, the spooky holiday hadn’t felt special. She noted feeling surprised that she hadn’t much looked forward to it, despite a lifetime of revering costume curation and candy collection. As I listened to her reflect on this predictable, but often unacknowledged, threshold of growing up, I sensed her disappointment in outgrowing a part of her childhood.
I figured I’d use her Halloween experience as my conversational on-ramp while we dined in NYC. “That feeling that you had about Halloween…” I led, “are you feeling that way about the holiday season in general?”
“No,” she countered. “Not at all! I’m so excited for the holidays!”
Yikes, I thought. Keep going, I told my hesitant self.
“Well,” I elongated the word’s syllable, which seemed to pique her curiosity, “I was just wondering….” At this point, I had her full attention with my glacial speed of speaking, “…if you might like to go in on some of the magic-making with me this year?”
Adopting the same stretched out cadence as mine, and without revealing any emotion, she responded, “such as…?”
We regarded each other—a seismic, subtle moment was taking shape. I took a breath and cautiously suggested, “like with the elf…?” And instantly, her eyes shone brightly and she smiled widely, then gushed that she’d love to!
But there was more. I couldn’t leave it there, and I think she sensed it.
Before I could say anything else, she gently revealed, as if my feelings were at stake: “Mom, I know about Santa.”
“You do?” I was both incredulous and relieved.
“Yeah,” she admitted, “but I like believing, so I haven’t wanted to bring it up.” And we went on to talk, for a long time, about her story, and then of my childhood story, that delivered each of us to the other side of the magic. Such a fun, glittery, connective conversation, as if a tiny sparkly thread now connected our spirits.
And I shared with her that one of my mom’s biggest regrets was from a conversation we’d had when I was seven, when I’d challenged her to tell me the truth—and only the truth—about the big guy’s reality. Feeling pressured, she pulled back the veil, and immediately regretted it.
You only get one childhood, I recall her saying to me years later. You wanted to believe; I realized in that moment that I’d made a huge mistake by taking the magic from you.
Whether or not my mom made the right call—I certainly don’t fault her for choosing honesty when confronted by her earnest child—I chose to enter motherhood with an unwavering commitment to the magic. I prepared myself for the doubting child. My tactic was to ask questions rather than provide answers; to express sadness for fading beliefs; to speak openly of my own, fervent, beliefs. And it worked! Hard core believers, we’ve had.
And finally, fifteen years in, I’d made it to an imperceptible finish line and the coast was clear to be transparent with my young adult child about all of it, and I loved being in this new space together.
And here’s the part that I want to share with you, dear Magic-Maker.
After our conversation naturally closed, and we’d moved on to the next topic, my daughter interrupted our flow to say this: “Mom, I just want you to know that you’ve done an amazing job with the magic.”
I took pause and teared up at this feedback that I assumed I’d never get.
“Really, Mom” she said nodding, as if some kind of invisible slideshow that revealed years of collected evidence had suddenly come into focus, “you nailed it. Thank you.”
(Yeah, I know, she probably deserves a ribbon for that comment.)
But also, I believe that she speaks for all kids whose magic-making parents have effortfully shadowed fairies, bunnies, jolly figures and the like. So let’s all soak in her words.
So whether you’re a magic-maker at present, or have been in years past, I want to remind you of what you may already know, deep down: your efforts have mattered; the magic is meaningful; your people are grateful. And, even if you’re exhausted, stretched or depleted this season, I’m quite sure that you’re doing an amazing job.
Let’s keep growing.
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This is the BEST!!!!
Thank you for sharing - I really needed to hear this!