When my wife and I welcomed our daughter, Jettie, into this world, we made a conscious decision: we would always be honest with her. I have never lied to her. Of course, I present things in ways she can understand, but I always make sure they’re true.
One of the biggest tests of this commitment came with the holiday season. Instead of telling her that Santa Claus sneaks into our house to leave presents, we told her that Moma and Dada Santa bring the gifts. Surprisingly, this didn’t rob the season of its wonder; it deepened it. No elf on the shelf watching her every move, no guilt-based manipulation to be "good" for the sake of rewards—just the simple, profound truth: love is the real gift.
We’ve applied the same approach to every myth that crossed our path. The tooth fairy is Moma and Dada Tooth Fairy. And more recently, when questions about God arose, we shared our belief that God is a projection of humanity itself—a reflection of our deepest hopes, fears, and aspirations, not a puppeteer in the sky.
In being truthful about the wonders of reality—and especially about the things we don’t know—we’ve cultivated an environment of trust and awe. We’ve had conversations at seven years old that my parents avoided my entire life. Coming from that environment, I thought these talks would be difficult. But surprisingly, it was lying to her that felt impossible.
There is a power in understanding myth for what it is: a lens through which humans have sought to make sense of reality’s complexity. Myths aren’t childish stories to be believed or discarded; they’re symbolic truths, reflecting the hopes, fears, and values of a culture. But when we reduce everything to either fairy tales or conspiracy theories, we drain the wonder from the world. We flatten the richness of mystery into a single narrative of control or deception, leaving no room for awe.
By choosing honesty—even when it meant letting go of cultural stories—I’ve watched my daughter develop a profound curiosity about the world. She trusts that I will always give her the real answer, even if it’s complicated. That trust has become the foundation of our relationship.
In the end, the magic of childhood isn’t in the myths we spin but in the love, wonder, and honesty we share. By choosing to tell the truth, we’ve given our daughter the most powerful gift: the confidence that she can always come to us, and we’ll be honest with her. And in a world full of myths, that might be the most magical gift of all.