Why do we make kids sit on a stranger’s knee?

When they’re too young to equate Santa with presents, kids can baulk at having a photo with a hairy, oddly-dressed stranger. But as parents we insist. Why? Mostly for our own enjoyment.

The sun might be sweltering outside and the waves might beckon, but wander into any shopping centre and a bearded man in red fat suit will be doing his dandiest to make you believe you’re living in a winter wonderland.

Does Santa travel in his own Northern Hemisphere bubble? Even as a child, I never understood why Aussie supermall Santa was dressed for a blizzard.

I have not one photo with Santa. I distinctly recall my mother practically begging my sister and I to have our photo taken one year, but we were having none of it. Looking down the aisle of Franklins, we were confronted by a Santa smiling like a lunatic, waving his bell asking: “Wanna a photo?”

Nup, we didn’t. And that was that.

Fast forward plenty of Christmases later, and I still think Santa is ridiculous. Three kids and eight years later, I am no more equipped to answer the barrage of endless questions now than I was as a child.

No idea why he’s overdressed; don’t know which is the REAL one; not sure if you’re on the naughty list and absolutely clueless as to what this has to with the birth of Jesus.

Despite my misgivings, and wanting to cherish everything magical and mystical in my children’s life before they figure out his con, I have hypocritically made my children have their photo with Santa every year.

I have a collection of photos with random old men in costume that proudly sit among cherished family photos in our home.

I could lie and say there were taken for the benefit of my children, but of course they weren’t. They are plainly for me, an annual keepsake memento which never really turn out as well as I imagine.

Call it children’s instinct, but when they were too young to equate Santa with presents, they too were bewildered to be having a photo with a hairy, oddly-dressed stranger.

Unlike, my own sympathetic mother, I insisted. In my case, it wasn’t a matter of choosing the best beaming-smiles picture to buy, it was more about selecting the best of the worst.

They include: my youngest bribed by holding Santa’s bell; Santa having to move off his sleigh altogether and stand in the background and in the least successful attempt, a blur of a picture as I dashed out of the picture while my defiant young daughter trotted after me.

Since they all finally believe in the magic of Santa, I am aware I must treasure this short moment in time where gullibility and innocence are beautiful things.

But, like families right around Australia, our Christmas miracle this year will be managing to get a photo with Santa where everyone is smiling.