Sad to say, but I think I stopped believing in Santa before I’d really started. I know I’d figured it out by the time I was four but somehow didn’t want my mom to know I didn’t believe for fear of disappointing her. Yes, I kept my non-belief in Santa a secret for fear of ruining the holiday for my parents. This little detail probably tells you more than you want to know about my family.
How did I find out? It was when I was taken to see Santa. I knew he wasn’t the real Santa somehow and, it seemed clear to me that if he wasn’t real there probably wasn’t really one Santa at all.
My mom figured out that I knew the truth when I was five — I think I gave myself away during a “visit” to Santa. She told me she understood, but that I was to keep the truth about Santa secret so as not to spoil things for my little sister. What’s funny and a little sad is that Little Sister reminded me recently that I was the one who told her that Santa was our parents. I didn’t remember doing that and felt terrible until she pointed out she was eight at the time and I’d saved her from social embarrassment. Hmm. She is the nice one.