My father is considered a quiet man by other adults. His habit of carefully listening, offering only the occasional witty or wise comment, has made him somewhat of a mystery man amongst my mother’s friends. But while he was quiet with other adults he was always actively engaged with me and my childhood friends – telling us stories, asking us questions and talking about the world. If I ever asked my father a question, I knew his answer would be careful, detailed and – most importantly – true.
So, when I asked him, at age 8, if Santa Claus was real, I expected him to tell me ‘no.’
Instead, after a long, thoughtful pause, he asked me if Love was real.
Confused, I said yes.
He then asked me if I could see Love, or touch it, or even hear it.
Still confused, I said no.
He then told me that Santa Claus is real in the same way that Love is real – you can’t see it, touch it or hear it, but it is there all the same.
Years later, when I reminded him of this, he could not remember any of that conversation. I have never forgotten it.
My father’s unquestioning respect for my intelligence, even at an extremely young age, taught me to expect respect in all other aspects of my life, throughout my youth and still, each day, as an adult. More importantly, it taught me to respect the intelligence of other people – any question worth asking is a question worth answering, and no one deserves to feel stupid for expressing themselves.
I am now studying to become a teacher because I believe that the way my father engaged with me as a child benefitted me in a way that few others get to experience. His belief in my abilities gave me an easy, quiet, adult confidence that is too often lost in young people – particularly young girls, who face a lot of criticism and shame at the hands of the media and their peers.
I hope to take my father’s doctrine of respect – the best lesson he ever taught me – into a larger space so that more children can believe in themselves (and Santa Claus) the way I always have and always will.