I told a friend of mine the other day that I never believed in Santa Claus as a child, and her eyes got positively round with horror. It surprised me that people would care that much, but my sweet friend was completely aghast, like I had just told her that I was raised by holiday-hating wolves.

For my large Catholic family, Christmas was more a religious affair than secular. Sure, I participated in a few Santa-related rituals, leaving drawings for him under the tree or writing a wishlist or two, but it was always just a game for me, and my parents knew that. One year, when I was around 7 years old, my father looked at me and said, “You know there’s no such thing as Santa Claus, right?” I was like, duh.

I never experienced a moment of some playground bully telling me Santa was a fake, or an older sibling gently letting me down. I just never believed, because I assume no one told me otherwise.

Now that Tommy is two and starting to dig all of the Christmas trees and lights surrounding us, I’m realizing that the moment of truth has arrived: do I tell Tommy that a complete stranger is really going to jump down the chimney to leave him a bunch of stuff he doesn’t need or even really want? Do I threaten him that any bad behavior is honestly being clocked from the North Pole, and will result in some lump of coal stuffed down his stocking?

Short answer: at the risk of sounding like a joyless Grinch, nope.

I don’t believe that my reluctance to indulge in perpetuating a fun fairy tale as truth will rob Tommy of the “magic of childhood” (whatever that means). Yet, I’ve still been fretting about the implications of being completely honest with him over the matter of Santa. So, I sought advice from my friend Amy Powell, who is a mother, creator of the Shiny Red Ball small press, and author of the children’s book “Maybe the Truth About Santa” (samples of which can be downloaded here.)

Maybe the truth…
“I’m a bit confused about who this Santa character is supposed to be,” says the narrator in Powell’s book. “…Is Santa part of some silly story that only gullible little kids think is true? Have adults been lying all this time and why is that something they would do?”

Powell remembers learning the truth about Santa at age 7, which was fairly traumatic as, up until that moment, her mother was a hardcore proponent of the myth. “My mom told us there was no Santa, and I bawled my eyes out,” she says. “There was this polarized shift…they totally blasted us with this news.”

When it comes to her 4-year-old daughter, Loewi, “It’s an interesting balance,” says Powell. “I want it to be magic. I want her to participate as much as she wants to—I don’t want to be a party pooper—but I don’t want her to have this misinformation…I don’t want to be dishonest with her. It’s not necessary. We can have fun and enjoy Christmas without me going, ‘Shh, everybody, I’m about to give Loewi this present.’”

Powell didn’t try to shield her daughter from Santa, of course—that’d be impossible, anyway. So she took a different tactic, and came up with a new concept of Santa: that he’s the embodiment of a giving spirit that anyone can possess.

When Loewi was younger, “I wanted to just say, ‘That’s Santa, the giving spirit, but actually, everyone is Santa. I’m Santa, and you’re Santa when you give a present,’” says Powell. “And that really made sense to her. She had a good understanding of it. When she was giving a present to someone on their birthday, she’d say, ‘I’m Santa today, mom.’”

These days, a more savvy Loewi is “starting to grasp the story,” adds Powell. “And she’s asking me questions, like, ‘So, he comes down your chimney?’ I’m like, ‘You know, they love to make a story about it. It’s fun to make stories.’ She’s a little resistant. When I tell her that it’s a story, she says, ‘No, he really does come down the chimney.’” Powell doesn’t make a fuss, she says—she just goes with it, sticking to the Santa-as-a-giving-spirit story. After all, spirits can go anywhere; why not down a chimney?

“Having her grow up in reality doesn’t mean she can’t grow up on magic, too,” says Powell.

The narrator in her book easily reconciles the problem. “Could it be true that we all have this giving spirit called Santa inside?” the child muses. “So when we want to know if Santa or our family gave us presents we don’t really have to decide?”

Who is Santa, anyway?
It turns out that this jolly old fellow has had many faces throughout history, but it primarily goes back to one man: Saint Nicholas, a bishop who lived in what is now Turkey. His good deeds earned him a reputation for generosity, and status as the patron saint of both children (and sailors!). You might have heard of the legend in which he anonymously tossed bags of gold into an impoverished family’s window, where they landed in stockings that were hung up to dry (sound familiar?).

How did the saint become the chubby guy in the furry red suit? It didn’t happen overnight; it took years of old legends and new marketing schemes to create the Santa who Americans know today. Santa might have one more eyeball than the Norse god Odin, but they both had long white beards and left treats for children. They even preferred similar transport: Santa had his eight reindeer; Odin had his eight-legged horse Sleipnir.

In the Netherlands and other parts of the world, Sinterklaas is based on St. Nicholas, so he wears the red robes of a bishop, plus a white beard. He keeps track of children’s virtue in a book he lugs around with him, and leaves candy or gifts in their shoes on Dec. 5 (Saint Nicholas’ eve).

The rest of Santa’s origins can be traced to both literature and smart advertising. “The Night Before Christmas,” published in 1823 in Troy, New York, solidified his girth and reindeer friends. An 1863 image of Santa by cartoonist Thomas Nast still doesn’t quite jive with the modern picture of the jolly fellow in our minds—that came later, in the 1930s, courtesy of Coca-Cola’s holiday marketing campaign.

Pitiful, deprived children
As an adult, I actually feel a little creeped out by the concept of Santa—not just because it involves deception to children, but because Santa has come to represent a thoroughly consumerist take on a holiday, while my husband and I work hard to reduce our own materialistic tendencies, and want to raise a child who is less interested in buying unnecessary stuff and more interested in giving to others. You know—make Christmas smaller but more meaningful. Not exactly Santa material.

True, I’m feeling a little bit more cranky than normal, and I think it has to do with the fact that a man was literally killed by a consumerist shopping frenzy the day after Thanksgiving. I was so disgusted by this that I declared I was through with humanity and their stupid desires for material goods, never wanted to shop anywhere ever again, was ready to go off the grid, and hey, does anyone want to find a nice cave with me? I can knit all of our clothes!

(If I turned out “weird,” it has nothing to do with a lifelong non-belief in Santa.)

I can imagine the arguments from well-meaning Santa champions now…

You’ll ruin the magic of Christmas! Christmas was plenty magical for little-unbelieving-me as a kid—the tree, the lights, the seemingly ancient crèche and miniature holiday village unearthed from attic boxes, the advent wreaths and calendars, the music, the cookies…

Santa is a symbol of the holidays! When I think of Christmas, lots of iconic images come to mind, and none of them say ho-ho-ho.

Are you not going to give your kid any presents? Yes, but not a ton—it’s not like a 2-year-old will be expecting anything at all, and he’s surrounded by doting and generous grandparents and aunts and uncles. The thing is, if we don’t start some tradition now of making Christmas morning all about a stack of presents, then it will be easy to keep the holidays simple and more enjoyable as he grows older.

Your kid will ruin it for other kids! Well, this is a tricky one. But think about it: a belief in Santa Claus is just one of many differences Tommy will learn about as he meets new friends from a variety of backgrounds. If we can teach him to be respectful of other people’s beliefs in general, then I think we’ll be fine.

If Santa’s gone, what’s left?
Well, Santa isn’t gone, is he? It’s not like I’m proposing a total ban on Santa, just a reasonable explanation for inquiring minds bombarded with images of his bowl-full-of-jelly-belly. Even at 2, Tommy recognizes pictures of Santa, and he loves read-alongs of “Spot’s First Christmas” (in which Santa guest stars) and “Santa Mouse, Where are You?”

But with a lighter focus on Santa, there’s room to create new holiday traditions. You might recall I had the recent privilege of interviewing Amanda Soule for babygooroo. Her book, “The Creative Family,” is full of ideas on creating your own holiday rituals—like encouraging your children to create their own tabletop winter wonderlands, or volunteer for a community service project.

If you’re a Santa fan but want to spice up your holiday celebrations, consider some of the global festivities surrounding St. Nicholas. Put a plate on the table for St. Nick like the Italians, or leave your clean and polished shoes out at night instead of stockings, a tradition common in many countries.

(By the way, I think that the Greek portrayal of St. Nicholas—soaked in brine and dripping with sweat and seawater—is my new favorite.)

Stay up all night singing carols. Festoon your home in lights. Build an entire neighborhood of gingerbread houses. Drink Jamaican sorrel or Swedish glogg or Mexican ponche  (and rope your theatrical friends and family members into hosting a Posada while you’re at it). There’s a whole Santa-free world out there.