My 4 Year Old Doesn’t Know Who Santa Claus Is.

Written By Gabriela Kesebi

It just hasn’t come up. Honestly.

With Easter around the corner and invites rolling in, I’ve been thinking about how we’ll approach the Easter Bunny—who also hasn’t come up yet.

A little context: I grew up in a very unconventional household. My parents came from opposite sides of the world, and now that I think about it, I actually have no idea how they celebrated Christmas or Easter when they were young. It just never came up.

As a kid in our little seaside town, we often spent Christmas at a friend’s off-grid cabin—only accessible by boat—tucked up the inlet on Catface. There was no electricity, and as far as I remember, no tree either… though I might be wrong. What I do remember are cozy (often stormy) nights with our dear friend, and sometimes a few others. On Christmas Day, we might see a few other kids. I don’t remember gifts being much of a thing—much to my chagrin. All the other kids seemed to get so many presents. (My first real encounter with envy.)

Later, after we moved to South America, my parents began hosting Christmas Eve dinners for friends without nearby family. We called it “Orphans’ Christmas,” and it was about as nontraditional as it gets. My mom would create her own version of a Christmas tree—an artful installation that changed every year. It rarely looked like a tree, but it was always stunning. We’d spend the day cooking, dressing the house in my mother’s signature style—beautiful, eclectic, and not at all “Christmas-y”—and then get dressed in our best. Over the years, we welcomed friends from all over the world into our home, and many of them still talk about those Christmases.

One year, we served fish while a couple of Canadian friends were passing through on a backpacking trip. They were surprised by the menu, but I told them to hold off on the shock—dinner was just the beginning. They came for a couple of days and ended up staying three weeks. Safe to say, they liked it.

Easter? Always at the beach. There were tons of kids, a big Easter egg hunt, and a beach fire. By the time we had moved to South America, I had grown out of egg hunts. I don’t recall ever celebrating Easter again.

My man’s upbringing was different, but also outside the traditional mold. He grew up in a traditional Turkish household in Canada, where they didn’t celebrate Christian holidays. He remembers coming back from winter break, hearing about all the gifts other kids received—and feeling a little sad. His mom told me she would give her kids a “New Year’s gift,” put up a tree and have a turkey dinner, but it wasn’t tied to Christmas.

So, we don’t have family traditions to lean on—which means we get to create our own.

When our kid turned one, we—I mean, I—started thinking about how we want to do this. (To be fair, my partner doesn’t really care about this stuff. I honestly don’t know how he’d tackle it if he weren’t on this parenting journey with me. But he’s up for it.)

That’s when I began noticing just how all-encompassing Christmas is. The music, the Santa everything, the commercials, the “Merry Christmas” everywhere. Growing up, I never questioned it. But now, I find myself wondering: what must it feel like for people who don’t celebrate it? One year, I even got offended when someone wished me “Merry Christmas.” I’ll admit—I took it a bit far. I have since realed it in and see the beauty in each country’s tradition.

Then I started to question what it meant to teach my child to celebrate a religious holiday I don’t consciously participate in. I kept exploring, asking questions, and turned to my Scandinavian friends—because let’s be honest, they make everything from parenting to cemeteries look cool. I figured they must be doing something thoughtful around the holidays.

Side note: I don’t have anything against Jesus. I believe he existed, and I believe he was likely an incredible man. I just don’t personally participate in organized religion. That said, I do see the value it brings—faith, community, prayer. And I really love the core teaching that runs through all religions: love.

The Scandinavian approach to the winter solstice season really spoke to me—it’s rooted in warmth, nature, and togetherness. Christmas in Scandinavia blends old pagan traditions with newer customs. My understanding is that it centers around light—candles in windows, stars, evergreen branches, and cozy meals that bring people together during the darkest time of year. Gift-giving on Christmas Eve reflects this beautiful mix of honoring both light and community.

I also learned about the older pagan roots of the season: the ten or so darkest days between Winter Solstice and New Year’s. These days were considered a sacred, mystical in-between time. People lit fires and candles to celebrate the return of the sun, feasted with loved ones, and connected with nature and the spirit of renewal. There’s something grounding and beautiful in celebrating by honoring the earth’s rhythms—and the promise of light returning.

So here’s what we’re doing for Christmas and Easter

Christmas.

We’ve reinstated the Orphans’ Dinners in our home on Christmas Eve. This year, we had a few friends over and decorated cookies before our feast. We will see how this evolves over the years. We give our kid one main gift on Christmas Eve, along with some stocking stuffers. His grandparents and extended family give him gifts too, if we see them around the holidays.

One of my favorite traditions comes from my sweet Danish friend, Maj: leaving milk and cookies outside on Christmas Eve—not for Santa, but for the elves. In Nordic folklore, these “elves” are little house spirits who protect the home and animals through the winter. But they expect to be treated well! Children leave out a bowl of porridge, cookies, or milk as a thank-you offering. I love how this custom connects kids to nature and imagination, without needing to explain a big magical figure like Santa. It feels more grounded—and still full of wonder. (I believe Maj and her family do it for all ten of the darkest days from Solstice to New Year’s... I’ll have to double-check that.)

Easter.

This year, for the first time, we’ll do an Easter egg hunt with friends. On a walk this morning my friend suggested turning it into a treasure hunt to make it more engaging—I think we’ll give that a try. I also got the idea from Julie O’Rourke (@RudyJude ) to make a small Easter basket filled with thoughtful, intentional items, which I loved. Here’s what I’m including for our little guy:

And yes—our kid still doesn’t really know who Santa is. It’s not that we’ve banned the idea; it just hasn’t been part of our story... yet.

Gabriela Kesebi
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