I remember telling my son, Ryan, about the Tooth Fairy.
"Mom, is that the gay dentist down the street that can't keep his hands to himself?" From then on, I told him the (sometimes abrasive) truth, and let him in "on the gag."
For example, grandma told him about Santa Claus. Ryan just looked puzzled.
"Don't you believe in Santa Claus?" she asked, disbelieving.
"Who?"
"You know, Saint Nicholas."
"Ryan, tell her what you know about Saint Nicholas."
He knew about that. "He was the Bishop of Myra, Turkey, was tortured under Justinian for the faith, known for charity, giving of dowries to indigent girls who could not otherwise marry well, is the patron saint of Children and Russia . . .."
"But doesn't he slide down the chimney and leave presents under the Christmas Tree at midnight?"
Ryan snickered. "I suppose that is the myth, but I find the life and works of the actual Saint Nicholas far more believable. And he is a far better example, don't you think? Besides, he'd have a rough time sliding down the three-inch roof vent we have for the heat pump . . .." That from a small wee lad.
She was appalled. "Everyone believes in Santa . . .."
I asked, "Chapter and verse?"
She didn't have an answer. But we sat around a beautifully decorated tree, with family and friends, sipping eggnog and got ready to open huge piles of presents -- most of which we had made ourselves. We read the story of the Magi from Matthew chapter 1, how we remember Jesus by the giving of gifts, and how we remember our European family ties with the Tannenbaum . . ..
Ryan grew up with real faith. We always told him the truth, even whenit is unpleasant, so he has never had any reason to question us or what we taught him.