Unexpectedly, I had “The Talk” with the girl when she came home from school yesterday.

I wasn’t prepared at all. Sure, I’d thought about what I’d say, and was a little nervous about broaching the subject when the day finally came. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready. We’re never ready for our little ones to grow up, are we?

It was not my intention, although I wonder how much control we have over these things, to have the conversation go so much like the same one I had with my mother, oh, 25-26 years ago. It went something like this:

The girl: So, there’s really not a Santa Claus, right?
Me: What do you think?
The girl: I think there isn’t. I think it’s just the parents.
Me: If that’s what you want to believe, that’s OK with me.
The girl: (shocked, indignant) So you’re admitting it?
Me: (shrugging, hands in the air)
The girl: So you just buy all the presents?
Me: (hands in the air, busted)
The girl: So there’s no Tooth Fairy, either?
Me: Nope.
The girl: Wait. What about the Easter Bunny?
Me: Right.
The girl: (pauses, has another bite of her apple, considers) So will I still get an Easter basket?
Me: Probably. But can I stop giving one to your brother? I mean, he’ll be 17 by Easter and it’s getting kind of ridiculous.

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