I’ve enjoyed a handful of Christmas films recently, and honestly, that number feels low.

The plots are typical: Love lost and found, hope rediscovered, fractured families healed, and even a Santa who gets kidnapped but ultimately rescued.

I’m serious about this next part: There’s a movie about a snowman who turns into a charming handyman and helps a community remember the true spirit of Christmas. That’s right—a charming snowman signifies true love.

You know what I didn’t see in any of these films? If you guessed “Latinos,” you’d be right. But relax; this isn’t a column about diversity that’s going to upset Republicans or remind anyone of the existence of different cultures.

Nope, there wasn’t a single film featuring parents laboring hard year-round to ensure their kids enjoy a wonderful Christmas.

This year, I’ll tell my son a different story—not about that generic guy in a suit who delivers gifts to good kids. That guy doesn’t share the weight of my responsibilities or take credit for my efforts.

My Christmas memories go beyond the corporate Santa narrative

Reflecting on my tumultuous past is often overwhelming, filled with trauma and hardships. Yet, amid that chaos, Christmas has always stood out as a joyful time.

That isn’t due to the fantastical tales about Santa Claus and his mission to deliver gifts to the nice children. I never thrilled at the prospect of mailing a letter to his imaginary North Pole home.

What I treasure are the moments spent with family and the eagerness of opening gifts. As I got older, I realized the sacrifices my family made to ensure I had presents and precious time with them.

Honestly, the tradition of making tamales will always remain in my heart.

Unfortunately, much of that vanished as my family fractured. That’s just life. But the story of Santa and his so-called list faded as I recognized the immense effort my mother put into creating any semblance of Christmas for me.

What memories do I want to impart to my son? Not Santa-related ones.

My son primarily experiences holidays being just with me and his mom. Hence, we strive to ensure he goes to bed on Christmas Eve, filled with the joyful anticipation of discovering what awaits under the tree the next morning.

We’ve never told him that Santa is keeping an eye on him. And as for that eerie Elf on the Shelf? Don’t even get me started.

Why would I encourage my son to trust in a random guy in a suit under the misconception that it builds lasting memories? Why let Santa assume credit for my hard work?

Santa isn’t on endless Teams meetings. He doesn’t get swamped by emails or have to deal with the likes of Rex Huppke. Santa doesn’t have to navigate vacation requests or bother to show his face on video calls.

And I’d love for him to have to face a day filled with emails demanding his deportation or labeling him a DEI hire.

Santa could never manage that. I’ll definitely be passing this wisdom onto my son.