I have a bone to pick with a (albeit recent) holiday classic, The Christmas Chronicles, starring Kurt Russell. It’s not that Russell wasn’t great as Santa (he was, just the right amount of jolly — and that beard!). The movie in and of itself is highly entertaining. It’s also just wrong. Case and point: The Christmas Chronicles planted the seed of disbelief in my son, one that grew too early, too fast, and bred an unbeliever.

And I’ll never forgive it.

I found out when taking my 7-year-old to coach his soccer practice this past month. “Dad,” he asked with a pensiveness that gave my stomach a heave, “do you believe in Santa?”

“Do you?” I asked. I’ve been in the parenting advice business for some time. I was prepared.

“Gina* and me know. We know it’s parents. Everyone believes it … sort of. But there’s no, like, magic like that.”

I held it together for the whole soccer game (a loss). But my heart was broken. A 7-year-old ready to give up the myth so easily? My daughter, now 13, held out until … well, I don’t think she’s yet let go of Santa now that I think about it. And my son, a kid who is sweet and innocent and prone to big feelings and lofty imagingings …. Just who the hell did this to my son?

It wasn’t Gina (whose name isn’t really Gina, but has been changed to protect the innocent, and their parents’ feelings). The source of this fallout was far more insidious and I pinpointed a few days after the soccer game, sitting down to watch some TV. Upon seeing a recommendation slide for Christmas Chronicles on Netflix, one of his favorites, he asked when we could start watching Christmas movies. That’s when I started to put the pieces together.

My kid’s view of Santa was corrupted by this movie, a film that I now clearly remember, in hindsight, led him to dig into the lore of the North Pole, to ask misguided questions, to unravel the magic. Marvel-ized and pulverized by an attention to detail that is beyond unnecessary. In hindsight, my poor kid didn’t stand a chance.

The Chronicles is about, simply, a family who loves Christmas, celebrating it like no other holiday. They grow, the dad dies young, the teen grows jaded and finds a bad crowd, and the elementary aged kid, a true believer, tries to bring him back. Then, they see Santa. It’s at this point in the movie that they start to peel back the onion of myth. After falling into his sleigh, this movie dives deep into the lore of Saint Nick, adding Hollywood flourishes and bringing it into a clearly defined world. The world is annoyingly, wrongheadedly detailed.

Things we learn: Santa’s hat is where most of his magic lies. His bag has multiversal and Hogwartsian dimensions — it leads to another fanciful place and also has a massive magical capacity. His reindeer do much of the magical heavy lifting. The elves have all sorts of powers but are mostly hapless (I’m fine with the elves, clearly there for heartfelt laughs and comic effect.) Santa’s only real natural power is charm — and the ability to make guitars appear, and to sing well? It’s all too specific and yet not enough.

As the movie uses these magical things as answers to a cynical teen boy’s lack of faith, I can see how my sensitive little guy came along for the ride. Instead of asking him to just believe, or at least to lighten up and enjoy the holiday, the movie attempts to replace a boy’s disbelief with facts. But the “facts” include a teleportational hat, a sack that contains a wormhole, and reindeer that are possibly alien creatures. My son must realize this is all ridiculous. So then, I can see his mind turning, what of the Santa story in our house?

Often less is more in story telling. This is especially true with kids’ stories. Broad strokes in plot let the kids keep the story personal and, yeah, magical. Not everything needs to be explained. Some things you just feel.

It’s a problem with so many big movies these days — particularly kids movies, increasingly holiday movies (I’m looking at you, The Red One). The sin of overexplanation is everywhere, giving us details rather than characters who struggle, stories that let the audience fill in the gaps, or an embrace of the inexplicable and enigmatic.

I sound like my jaded old man here, but when it comes to movies, especially holiday movies, they just don’t make them like they used to.

Put on Miracle On 34th Street (the 1947 version, if you would) and behold the restraint, good vibes, and a spirit that transcends a need to explain. Is that movie condescending? Not one bit. It understands the skepticism better than someone who tries to answer it outright. It tells us, “Oh, you don’t believe? Well, I think you’re missing the whole spirit of belief then.” Because faith — whether directly tied to the Christian notion or as a sort of pseudo religious practice in Santa — means giving up that line of questioning and giving into the feels.

There are plenty of holiday movies and books with such restraint. The Polar Express is all about faith. A fever dream of a movie and great kids book, the magic is of very little consequence. The Nightmare Before Christmas is a cautionary tale about what happens if you overthink the magic of the holidays. (You get heads in your stocking.) Home Alone always frightened me when Santa didn’t put presents under Kevin’s tree. But he didn’t ask for anything but his family, folks. The magic remains.

Then there’s Elf. A large part of the plot of Elf revolves around Santa’s need for a working jet engine to make his sleigh run — because the Christmas spirit was running out, naturally. Thankfully, the movie uses this as the most basic of plot devices, moving on quickly once the laughs dry up and avoiding any further explanation of the Christmas magic. When Buddy treks from the North Pole to New York City, the movie brings in the silliest of claymation figures to shepherd him along. Don’t worry about how it happens, the movie is telling us, worry about why. The movie pedaled in the comedic big hearted genius of Will Ferrell and let us imagine the rest.

So what am I going to do? The man with the bag is out of the bag, so to speak, but I plan on trying to put it back in — mostly by ignoring it. I’m going to go through the motions — make a list, check it twice, go to Macy’s for a little magical time with Santa. I’m going to never reveal my own belief, but kick it back. What do you think, son? Pretty magical time of year, isn’t it?

Of course, I’m going to skip The Red One and try to avoid The Christmas Chronicles and put on a more appropriate movie for the season. Because, as Kris Kringle reminds us in Miracle on 34th Street, “Oh, Christmas isn’t just a day, it’s a frame of mind… and that’s what’s been changing. That’s why I’m glad I’m here, maybe I can do something about it.”

Tyghe Trimble is the Editor-in-Chief of Inverse. Prior to Inverse, Tyghe was the Editor-in-Chief of Fatherly, the digital director of Men’s Journal, and the lead digital editor of Popular Mechanics, the 119-year-old Hearst publication. Prior to that, Tyghe was the news editor for Discover where he began a life-long passion for science, health, and environmental journalism. He’s a dad of two who lives in Brooklyn.