Just this year, Ana learned to recognize Santa. On our recent trip to Mexico, she saw a small Santa piñata at a market stall and so I bought it for her, as a gift. Of course she had no idea what a piñata was, only that this small cardboard doll was hers and looked like her new favorite Christmas character. She carried it around with her and grew quite fond of it. Fast forward to Christmas day in Inxhuatan, Oaxaca, where one of her aunts suddenly showed up with what appeared to be the very same Santa piñata, expect this one was filled with candy and presented to all the cousins as a collective gift which they now got to smash apart. Ana, still only a toddler, confused this Santa piñata with the very one waiting back in her room (it's easy to do -- it's a generic piñata being sold all over the country). Ana yelled: "Mine!" Jen and I tried to explain it was a different Santa piñata, but of course, Ana is a few years away from being able to understand that things can be uniquely hers and generically public at the same time. What ensued, of course, was hilarious and mildly tragic. Ana was not so much upset by the unfolding ritual, as she was confused as to why the hell her parents would allow a gang of children to string up her doll and then smile as those same children beat her doll's head in with a stick. I can only guess as to what Ana was thinking when the children began to eat candy out her doll's broken face. In the end, realizing how confused Ana was by it all, her cousins taped the head back together and presented her with a refurbished Santa that looked a lot like Leatherface, from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was, in actuality, very sweet. Eventually we took Ana back to her room and showed her the original Santa piñata I'd bought her; after that, all was right with the world again.
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