The reality of fantasy (or, Tom, what do you think?)

This past Christmas, Tom and I disagreed about whether Edith believes in Santa Claus. She never has said anything suggesting he doesn't exist, and Tom was sure she was a true believer yet. I thought that as smart as she is at making inferences about storylines and people, and as clear as an eight year old must be about physical reality and logic, she had put two and two together but appreciates the fantasy of Santa Claus so much that she continues to perpetuate it alongside us.  Tom felt that that was too convoluted a maneuver and that his simpler answer must be right.

So. The other day in the car I teasingly accused Edith of having no imagination. I forget the scenario, but she was asserting a big-sister moment of literalism in picking apart the logic of something quirky Alice had said.

"I have no imagination?" Edith protested. "I believe in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and the Easter Bunny, and you say I have no imagination? Really, Mom."

Dissect that one, Tom, and let's talk again.