My husband, Ian, bent to Ben's eye level, trying but unable to make eye-contact.
"There is a Santa Clause, and the exciting part is that he's coming tonight to put presents under the tree!" Ian smiled with encouragement. He was wearing wilting felt reindeer antlers that jingled as he nodded his head.
"A big fat man can't fly through the sky and squish down smokey chimneys with a huge sack of toys!!" Ben glared into his Dad's eyes, challenging him with an impressive yet disturbing intensity.
"He uses magic, Christmas magic."
Ben took a moment to judge the sanity, and intelligence level of his Dad, who held his ground, rubbing the soft fur of a red stocking with his thumb.
"Magic is a lie," Ben said evenly, confidently.
"It's fun," replied Ian, becoming aware of shaky ground. "When I was a boy, I snuggled under the covers with my dog on the couch, hoping that I might be the luckiest kid, and actually meet Santa while he ate the cookies and milk I'd left for him."
Ian looked over at me, welcoming my input at this point. I smiled and raised my glass of eggnog in a silent toast to his noble attempts to draw his son into a magical world of talking snowmen, flying reindeer and tiny peppermint scented cottages dotting the sparkly landscape of the Northern toy capital of the world.
"All your life you were a liar?" Ben's eyes grew large.
My laugh bubbled my eggnog, causing me to drool on my shirt.
I remember that winter evening because in an odd way it was a turning point. I saw in our son's eyes a question that went beyond that moment, to reveal an unbending commitment to facts and logic; a boy lost and floundering in a world that made no sense. A struggle over the existence of Santa Clause nudged us closer to a future awareness of Aspergers, a deeper understanding of our son, and a grateful thrill for a different kind of magic - a sense of humour. Ben's definition of a lie basically exposes every holiday as a sham, and his parents and siblings as compulsive liars. Halloween has been a gong show; wearing a costume to pretend to be something else is definitely a lie, no matter what the sugary pay-off. Valentines Day cards are cheesy sentimental lies being stuffed into construction paper boxes of classmates you don't really love, and rarely even like. The Easter Bunny is just a bizarre farce, and if we mention the Tooth Fairy one more time we may as well admit to our own premature dementia.
Later that snowy Christmas Eve, after we'd soothed tears by finally admitting that we'd bought his presents, I held his little hand and whispered "I love you". He cuddled under his blankets, nodded and drifted off, recognizing the only truth that ever matters.
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