This Should Not Qualify As A Christmas Tradition.

Young parents (or middle-aged parents who got started late, like me) have to navigate a wholly different, entirely more complex landscape than our own parents ever imagined. Social media, cyber bullying, rapidly changing social norms…all of these are challenges not seen by earlier generations.

None of them, however, come close to the greatest obstacle we face.

I am, of course, referring to Elf on the Shelf.

If you’ve dodged this particular holiday ordeal, A: I hate you, and B:Here’s how it works: 

An elf (small doll) gets “adopted” into your home (suggested retail price: $32.95) and begins appearing at various locations around the house (you move it around overnight) throughout the entire month of December.  For some reason, searching for the elf’s new location every morning amuses kids to no end, despite just being a holiday version of the VASTLY less popular household game, “Help dad find his car keys.” 

If this seems like an easily forgettable chore that will upset and frustrate the kid if you forget, well, you’re wrong: forgetting it will tear your kid’s heart asunder like they just visited a cancer ward exclusively for golden retriever puppies.

Now, in fairness, moving the elf is a pretty minor chore, and I can live with that.  I like Christmas.  My reserves of holiday cheer can endure moving a doll from the mantle to the bookshelf once per day. 

That, sadly, is not what my kid’s friends’ parents are doing. They’re doing this:

While I have nothing but admiration for the parents who can display this level of dedication to a bit, the last thing I need around Christmas is a kid who comes home to inform me that her friend’s elf made a gingerbread house overnight while ours just sat on the TV.  In terms of terrible things she could bring home from school, I’d honestly prefer she came home with a jar full of termites than outlandish elf expectations.

Listen kid: I’m happy that your friend’s elves are rock climbing or cooking hibachi or taking up artisan woodworking or whatever they’re doing today. 

Your elf isn’t gonna do that stuff. 

Your elf is gonna sit by this lamp.  He might fall over in the night.  He’ll probably acquire a ketchup stain at some point.

But over and above the expectation to produce Pinterest-worthy tableaus of Yuletide mischief (note that I spent more effort on phrasing this sentence than I will ever spend arranging the elf), the thing that bothers me most is the Elf’s backstory.

The story, outlined in a picture book that comes bundled with the doll (presumably to justify charging over thirty bucks for a toy they didn’t even bother to give feet) is that the elf moves around on its own overnight so it can report the kid’s behavior back to Santa.  So aside from being Baby’s First Narc, the elf story is so transparently fake I’m worried it’s gonna collapse the whole Christmas Magic™ illusion.

My 8-year-old has already started low-key reminding me to move her elf overnight, and I can’t decide what to make of it.

Let me be clear. This is not her saying “Dad, don’t forget to move my elf overnight.”  That would be simple; I would tell her to move her own elf.  I would feel fine telling her that because, in this theoretical scenario, my daughter and I have mutually agreed that this Dollar-Tree-quality doll that somehow costs as much as a lobster dinner is an inanimate piece of polyester.

That, however, is not the conversation we are having.

“Dad, where do you think my elf will move tonight?  I hope he hides in my stocking.”  She can’t wink yet, but if she could, she’d be batting that one eye like she had a bug trapped beneath her eyelid.

What does this mean?  Does she believe?  Is she trying to convince herself that it’s real?  Does she know the elf is just a goof but wants ME to think that she believes it?  Is she equally suspicious of Santa or has she compartmentalized the elf to its own category.  I haven’t been this confused since I started trying to figure girls out in the sixth grade.  This is “Do you like me?  ___Yes  ___No  _X_ Maybe” all over again.

Anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE Santa.  I ought to—I’ve worked as a charity Santa for years.  I love what he represents and what he means to kids.   But as much as I’d like to hang on to my daughter’s belief years for as long as possible, I recognize that she won’t believe in Santa forever.  I accept it.  In some ways I’m looking forward to it.  I’m excited to see what kind of person the kid turns into, and growing out of stuff like Santa and the Tooth Fairy are a big part of that.

…but, man, don’t let the thing that ends her belief in The Big Man be this doofy little doll that she’s supposed to pretend is playing cards with her Barbies and going fishing in the dog’s water dish.  I can deal with my kids growing out of a belief in Santa, but he deserves a better send off than this festive holiday version of Capone going down on tax evasion.

Anyway, I have to cut this off and go move an elf.  Maybe if I remove the living room vent cover I could recreate that scene from “Die Hard”…

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