Why do parents purposely 'lie' to their children? I like to think of it as the same reason why anyone is told to believe in anything: hope and entertainment. Let's face it, it is quite traumatic for a child to have to lose his teeth without believing in this mystical fairy that will exchange them for moolah. Even when a child is old enough to deduce that the whole magical thing is nonsense, he will still hang on to the vague hope until his parents either tell him that it's bollocks or he finds his teeth lying around somewhere. In my case it was the latter when I got bored one day and opened a few little boxes in my parents room. Lo and behold, there was a nearly full set of baby teeth and, considering I'm an only child and my parents aren't stealing teeth from unsuspecting children in the street, I safely debunked the sweet little flying woman with a strange obsession and a copious amount of small change. Once confronted, my parents instantly broke down and admitted everything. They wouldn't last a day with the FBI on their case.
I was never too taken in by the Easter Bunny because, let's face it, a rabbit laying eggs? Honestly? Whoever came up with that was the biological knowledge equivalent of an acne-ridden late-teenage virgin who gives sex advice to his younger brother. Father Christmas, however, was a different story. I ate that shit up like a hungry infant let loose in a topless bar. Mind you, I used to be afraid of his poorly choreographed representations in the form of ageing men beckoning me to sit on their laps. I was never an easy target to sex offenders. I remember once plucking up the courage to ask one of these glorified paedophiles how he manages to get down my chimney since it isn't even wide enough to fit two fists side by side (I am indeed aware of how inherently wrong this last sentence looks, just go with it). His response was that he could change size because he was overflowing with magic. I later found out that he was actually my cousin. This confused me to no end but I let my imagination transcend that barrier and, in my reluctance to face the truth, I concluded that Mr Claus was indeed still real, and that all the men in the street dressed as him were just there because of convention. OK maybe in not so many words but I was five for fuck's sake, give me a break.
On a related note, some of the fairy tales that we all know and love have some really sinister origins. One I remember is Little Red Riding Hood. There are many versions and I managed to procure a brief summary of the most gory version. I'll spare you all the details but the main thing you must keep in mind is that the magical talking wolf was actually a werewolf. Think evil werewolf. A very evil werewolf. So he eats the grandmother yet leaves just enough of her to feed to the seemingly oblivious Ms Riding as she visits. In the end he also murders and eats the stunningly intelligent Ms Red Hood. There is no lumberjack to save the day. The end. Wow. Mind you, some of the stories are still sinister in the versions that they are told to innocent children. I mean, Hansel and Gretel? Really? They killed their captor by pushing her into her own oven. What?
Anyway, we will continue to exploit children's innocence for as long as they will have it because it's just so goddamn cute to think that one day they could end up being the scum of the Earth, or the leaders of the future. For those first few years however, they are just a sponge there to absorb every little detail of anything that they are told by those they look up to and love unconditionally. Precious, really.
