Is this the last year you will believe?
Every year I wonder if this is the one. The one where your innocence and your imagination will fade. Where your skepticism rises.
Every year I sense tinges. Yet when I broach the subject, I can see in your eyes that you, too, aren’t quite ready.
I suspect you are messing with me. When the time comes, you will tell me you’ve known for years.
You say things that let me know you’re in on the gig, yet you turn right around and tell your siblings that you’ve seen Santa, The Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy with your very own eyes.
And somehow you make me believe too.
There is great debate in the parenting world as to whether we should ever even perpetuate this myth.
People lose sleep over what/how/when to have the talk.
When the time is right, we will know.
Perhaps you already do, and like everything, you just get it.
You don’t need us to explain the fun, the joy, the magic, the excitement, and the memories we’ve created together.
Looking back, I wouldn’t trade any of it.
We aren’t lying to you. We never would. If you asked, we’d tell.
But you want to believe.
And I hope you always will.
Even when you know the reality, I hope you never stop believing.
Never stop believing in the possibility of hope, love, and generosity.
Never stop believing in the possibility of magic and awe.
Never stop believing in the possibility of dreams coming true.
Because they do, my love.
You are a living example of that.
