When did you stop believing in Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, and the tooth fairy?

Just before my ninth Christmas, I quietly padded down the stairs into our living room.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Santa isn’t real, is he?”

“Er… no.”

“Okay. I didn’t think so. I just wanted to make sure.”

I don’t remember any event triggering this— just the solemn realization that Santa made no sense.

My parents kept up the ruse long after that. We’d get gifts first thing on Christmas morning, all signed from “Santa Claus”. I remember my mom telling us a few times, “Yep, Santa couldn’t find that in your size but I told him I’d take you to the store to get it.”

I think it was around this same time that I went, “If Santa isn’t real, I bet the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy aren’t, either.”

I wasn’t upset by this news. I still got gifts and money under my pillow, so it didn’t matter to me if it was because of magical creatures or my parents.

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