Dad Daze: My four children’s photos with Santa Claus are priceless

If you’re a child, please stop reading this column right now, and do your homework, play a game of catch with your dad, or indulge in video game addiction.

I was only 7 years old when I realized that there was no Santa Claus. After I rattled off a list of cool presents – a new baseball glove, a bike and a little brother – to Saint Nick, I followed my mother around the corner where she was paying a bill at the grand Lit Brothers department store in downtown Philadelphia.

After rounding the corner, I noticed there was another chubby fellow in seasonal garb taking requests from kids on his lap.

“There is no Santa, is there?” I said to my harried mother.

“Of course there is,” she said.

“Then why are there two Santas here?” I said.

“Well, they are actually Santa’s helpers,” mother explained.

“How does Santa fly around the entire globe and deliver presents to every kid in the world?,” I asked. I broke everything down in a practical manner until my mom broke down.

“All right, there is no Santa Claus,” my mother said near tears. “Are you happy now?”

For a moment, yes, but long term, no.

Perhaps my mom would have continued the verbal volley, but she was on her last nerve. The construction boom had just gone bust, and my father, who loved laying bricks, was walking them looking for work.

For the first time in forever, my mother was going to prioritize a paycheck. So no wonder she snapped at her persistent only son who just had to know the truth, even though it was a drag.

The first thing I did when we returned home was let my friends know that Santa didn’t exist. It was my first journalistic experience. I broke some amazing news to my pals, and there was nothing like the shock on their faces.

I remember how upset my best friend’s parents were after I told their sons, Nake, who is still a close friend, and his brother, Rocky, that Santa is a fairy tale.

It was one of two times Nake and Rocky were banned from playing with me, the other occasion when I demanded that my pals navigate a treacherous, mountainous hill with their roller skates, which led to train tracks, which we walked for about a mile.

I eventually felt terrible about the Santa revelation when I thought about how I instantly destroyed my friends’ Santa Claus experience.

As an adult, I felt for their parents. The last thing I want to do is ruin the magic of Christmas by revealing to children that Santa is a great concept but isn’t real.

By the way, do children read the newspaper? I consumed the sports section every day at the same age I learned about what was up with Santa, but I believe I’m an anomaly. I did try to stop children from reading this column.

When my children were born, I vowed to keep Santa alive as long as possible. It’s more fun to believe, and there actually once was a Saint Nicholas who was known as Santa Claus due to his secret gift giving.

When my daughter Jillian finished off unwrapping her presents at the age of 9, she looked at me oh-so-seriously and said, “Daddy, is there a Santa Claus?”

“Of course there is,” I replied.

“How could that be possible?” she asked. “There’s no way.”

I used my limitations as a carpenter to keep the Santa dream alive. Jillian had just received a brand new desk.

“If there was no Santa Claus, who could have constructed this desk?” I said. “You know how I can’t fix a thing. So, it wouldn’t have been me. It must have been Santa Claus, right?”

“Yeah, it must have been Santa since you could have never put this desk together,” Jillian said while laughing.

If she only knew how many hours it took me to construct that darn desk. It wasn’t easy, but neither is keeping the fun of Santa going and most things that are worthwhile.

When I announced that it was time for our kids to dress for the annual visit with Santa Claus, my wife would always roll her eyes and say, “Why waste your time and money by going to the mall for a photo with a guy dressed in a red suit and a white beard? What’s the point?”

It’s all about posterity. Someday, I said, I’ll look back at these photos, and I’ll revisit those years. I’ve taken myriad photographs, and most shots are either on a disc or in a drawer. Maybe if I was more organized, I wouldn’t need the Santa photos.

But who am I fooling? I’m pathetic enough to admit that I always enjoyed the 15-minute drive to the mall to say hello to Santa and occasionally his wife, dear Mrs. Claus.

I could do without the wait, sometimes as long as 40 minutes, to check in with Father Christmas once we entered the mall. Twice, Santa had the audacity to take a dinner break. We were next and had to cool our heels for another half-hour.

I would hold the line while my kids would disappear into clothing shops and phone stores. It’s usually been a pleasant experience once we reached our destination.

I’ll give my kids credit for always sacrificing two hours of their busy lives to indulge my holiday whim. They’ve also been great in front of the camera. When it’s magic time, the smiles appear on their previously bored faces.

However, nine years ago when my daughter, Jane, was 2, she was less than thrilled about sitting on the lap of a plump stranger with a fake beard and, from what my son Eddie said, rancid breath.

I asked for multiple photos, and when I decided to readjust the kids, Santa, ol’ Saint Nick, took umbrage. “Can you get on with it!” mall Santa exclaimed. “It’s just a picture. This isn’t a commercial. Do you know how much I’m getting paid?”

I told big Nick that I never thought about the concept of compensation and apologized. “I promise to be good next year,” I said.

“Get out of here,” Santa said. We did just that. I walked out of the mall with about 30 less dollars than when I entered, but I was always thrilled with the product.

As I look back at how my children appeared at different stages of their lives in different fashions, I can’t help but think, “Wow, I spent more than $600 on these photos. Maybe my wife was right.”

Just kidding! I can live with that expense. Every time we visited the mall, we had a blast for the rest of the evening. What’s best is that none of my children realized that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, or so I thought.

Jillian recently revealed that Jane, who is now 11, realized that there is no way Santa or anyone can cover that kind of ground, even while in the air, when she was in first grade.

“Jane knew what the logistics were and that it was impossible for Santa to make every kid in the world happy,” Jillian said. “At least Jane was nice enough to pretend that she still believed in Santa Claus. But she figured it out when she was 7.”

I guess logic runs in our family. Despite that “flaw,” we’ve always managed to have so much fun during Christmas. It’s about the spirit of giving, love and for me being blessed to have children who I’m so proud to have witnessed them morph into such wonderful human beings.

As Bill Murray’s character said in “Lost in Translation”: “It gets a whole lot more complicated when you have kids. … And they will turn out to be the most delightful people you will ever meet in your life.”

It’s all true, especially at Christmas. That is so with or without Santa.