During dinner tonight, the topic of Santa came up. “I don’t believe in Santa Claus,” the Boy said confidently, “but I believe in Saint Nicholas.” I thought he might be thinking of the Polish version of Santa, Mikolaj, who comes on December sixth, or perhaps just he was just thinking of the actual Saint Nicholas of the Catholic church — you know, the bishop from Turkey.

“I knew this time was coming,” I thought. I’ve always felt a ting of guilt about the whole Santa thing: I knew perfectly well that Santa doesn’t exist, but I kept playing along, telling our kids that Santa does exist. Eventually they figure it out, but it just left a bad taste in my mouth.

Soon, though, he kind of back-tracked: “Well, I’m not sure.”

“What evidence do you have that Santa exists?” I asked him.

“What kind of evidence do you have that Santa doesn’t exist,” L jumped in like a typical thirteen-year-old who just wants to be contrary. (Is it only thirteen-year-olds that are like that?)

“No, sweetheart. Whenever people are making a claim, the burden of proof is on them. They have to provide evidence, not the skeptics who doubt the story,” I clarified. I thought about going into what it means to beg the question, but I didn’t, turning instead back to the Boy: “So what evidence do we have?”

He listed the toys, the imagery in movies, the stories.

“Can we explain those things with other methods? Is there a simpler way to explain the toys appearing under the Christmas tree?” Did I tell him we were applying Occam’s Razor? Certainly not. But we were shaving away.

“Well, you and Mom could put the toys under the tree,” he responded after some thought.

In the end, though, when pressed, he decided that he leaned toward a belief in Santa.

We’ll see how he views it next year.