When Santa Signs: Why Inclusive Grottos Matter More Than We Realise

Elias sits in front of Santa surrounded by his family

There are many things I expect from a Santa’s grotto:

A slightly questionable beard.

An elf who looks like they’ve been working overtime since mid-November.

A photo I will later overanalyse and question why my hair looks like "that".

What I did not expect was to walk into a grotto and feel my chest crack open in the best possible way.

Elias’ school recommended a special Santa’s grotto experience — hosted by Positive Signs CLC and set up inside Roomes department store in Upminster — and it wasn’t just any grotto. This was a grotto with a Santa who signs. Magic doesn’t even begin to cover it. Because just like that, a Christmas outing went from a nice festive activity to core memory unlocked.

For families like ours, these outings come with an invisible checklist:

Will this place understand our child?

Will we have to explain ourselves?

Will we need to translate, adapt, soften expectations, or leave early?

Elias is deaf and has complex needs. He doesn’t sign yet himself, but he understands more than people realise. He reads faces, bodies, energy. He feels things deeply — joy included.

So when we walked into the grotto and saw Santa and his helper elf signing to one another, something shifted. No awkward pause. No explaining. Just instant inclusion.

I even got to practice my own signing — which felt a bit like being invited behind the curtain of Christmas magic. (Turns out Santa’s fluency in BSL is significantly better than mine. I remain firmly at “enthusiastic beginner”.)

Elias didn’t sit politely on Santa’s knee. That’s not his style.

Instead, he climbed. Pulled himself up. Stood holding Santa’s hands, steady and proud, like this was exactly where he was meant to be. And Santa — without rushing him, without redirecting him — met him right there.

There was no pressure to perform. Just connection. Elias was animated. Engaged. Completely himself.

And I stood there thinking: This. This is what inclusion looks like. Not grand gestures. Not performative box-ticking. Just a space designed so a child can show up as they are and be welcomed.

It would be easy to dismiss this as a “nice extra”. A festive novelty. Something optional.

But inclusion isn’t an add-on — it’s the difference between participation and exclusion. Between families feeling like outsiders or feeling like they belong.

For parents of children with additional needs, moments like this don’t just create joy for our children — they give us relief. They let us exhale. They remind us that the world can meet our kids halfway.

And yes, it’s “just” a Santa’s grotto.

But it’s also representation. It’s visibility. It’s a child seeing that magic speaks their language too.

We talk a lot about Christmas being “the most wonderful time of the year”. For many families like ours, it can also be the most exhausting — navigating crowds, noise, expectations, and traditions that weren’t built with our children in mind.

That’s why places like this matter.

Because when Santa signs, when elves adapt, when inclusion is intentional, Christmas becomes what it’s supposed to be: joyful, accessible, and full of wonder.

And for us, this visit wasn’t just festive. It was affirming. It was hopeful. It was a reminder that small changes can make a huge difference.

So here’s to inclusive grottos. To Santas who sign. To elves who adapt. And to children like Elias, standing proudly in Santa’s hands, exactly where they belong.

Possibly the most wonderful time of the year after all.