I think I was about six, once again it was a sibling that broke the news with no small amount of smug satisfaction. My step-sister informed me that I was stupid for believing in Santa, and that one year they had caught their dad putting presents under the tree, so there. After that, she convinced me to go rifling through our parents’ closet where we found the Cabbage Patch Kids that we were to receive.
So…for revenge I told my mom all about us snooping, and our Cabbage Patch Kids were given to some friends of the family. I was rather pleased with myself for getting back at Kathy (step sis), but bummed about not getting the dolls. I think we got some the next year.
My parents always put the presents under the tree, but would save a few back and also the stockings and put those out on Christmas Eve after everyone’d gone to sleep. They continued to do this even after the Santa gig was up. To this day I still get presents from “Santa”, as well as the dogs and cats, and if I stay over at the 'rents for christmas I wake up in the morning to find full stockings, which is still really impressive considering I’m usually sleeping a few feet away from them and I’m a light sleeper.
I don’t think I ever believed . I believed it like I believed in the people in story books. Real but not really real. (Not that I didn’t find Alsan and Alice and Peter Pan {and later Madame Bovary and Winston Smith } far more convincingly real then some of the “people” I meet everyday.})
Although my parents did perpetuate the idea a bit…I got presents from Santa…and Mrs. Santa. And the Elves. A feminist, classless household were we :D.
For me the magic was in the mysterios transformation overnight…presents appearing, stocking filled overnight while I was asleep. Magic! So why not throw in a supernatural character? It keep beening magic even when I found the presents in mom’s room the week before.
Until I was about 8. A friend told me. I asked my mom. She confirmed my suspicions.
I felt bad that I hadn’t been thanking my parents all those years, so at Christmas that year, when my little brother and sister were distracted, I gave Mom and Dad each a big hug and a “thanks.” I was a pretty goody-two-shoes kid, huh? I even perpetuated the myth to the kiddies. “I think I heard reindeer last night!”
These days, my mom and stepdad (things changed over the years, you see) write “From Mom and Bill” on the presents, but my dad still writes “FROM SANTA” in his own, undisguised, all-caps handwriting. I think that’s awesome.
I started piecing it together when I was six or so. My belief was totally shattered by 7.
First I noticed that Santa’s handwriting looked suspiciously like my dad’s. I believe there was a Christmas morning query, and I was given some cock and bull story. Yeah, dad, whatever.
The next year, I was a latch-key kid. I had asked for a kid’s sewing machine. So I’m sitting there after school and the phone rings. I pick it up. It’s J.C. Penney, telling me that my sewing machine was ready to ship. I guess I had the contralto even then, either that or the lady on the phone was just clueless.
Same year, my sister spoils it completely. She’s 7 years older than me. I told her my findings. I was shown the parental closet.
I wasn’t as disappointed as I might have been, honestly.
I got in trouble in First Grade for telling my classmates that there was no Santa. I can’t remember who told me, or if I figured it out myself. I remember being relieved. I had thought that Santa was a little creepy, breaking into my house at night when all of the lights were off. Who knew what else he could’ve been up to.
My mother had the right idea. After she learned from friends that there was no Santa, she kept quiet, thereby assuring that she would still get her “Santa” loot.
I was in kindergarten. Someone at school said there was no such thing, so like everything else in the world at that point, I asked my mom. She explained it really nicely, saying about how who else “Can see you when you’re sleeping, and knows when you’re awake…etc”, explaining that there had been clues there all along that I didn’t pick up on. So she saved herself from the lying accusations, and told the truth at the same time. My mom rocks.
If I end up with children of my own I think I’ll tell them about Santa, but only based on the tradition in my (and Calvin’s) family that the father gets to make up all sorts of crazy garbage to tell the children because lying to children is funny.
That’s an excellent question and I thank you for asking it…
Well…the above is actually a reference coming from caricatures of french politicians. Nobody here can get it but it’s the first sentence that came to my mind.
What I mean is : I’ve no clue. Though I sometimes wondered.
Knowing myself, I’m pretty certain I’m going to be evil and lie to them too…
When I was 7, Santa Claus came to our house at Christmas and gave us presents in person. I was absolutely thrilled.
Well, a few months before the next Christmas, I said something about Santa to my grandmother, who acted disgusted. She said I was too old to believe in Santa Claus, and he didn’t exist. When I protested that he came to our house, she snorted “That wasn’t Santa Claus, it was your Uncle Eddie.”
Being a kid, naturally, I immediately blabbed to my two younger brothers… which got ME into huge trouble with my parents! Anyway, on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus showed up ALONGSIDE my Uncle Eddie. My younger brothers, of course, mocked me for saying that my Uncle Eddie was Santa Claus, since obviously he couldn’t be.
Later that night, I said to my Dad, “I promise I won’t tell the others… but who was Santa Claus really?” Dad admitted it was one of our neighbors. And I clammed up to keep my brothers happy.
I figured it out early, maybe 5 or 6… although my parent made a real good attempt to convince me. We went to visit relatives for the Christmas holiday, we left on about the 23rd and came back on the 26th or 27th. When we left there was no tree, no presents, no decorations of any kind… when we returned, there was a decorated tree, presents and it made me wonder whether I could have been wrong about Santa… for about 5 minutes until I realized that our next door neighbor had keys to our house. Of course, my parents exclaiming how this was proof of Santa did much to arouse my suspicions.
Actually, I liked the time after I figured it out better than before. It gave me something to do in December… FIND THE PRESENTS!!!
I was probably 8 or 9 years old when I realized how it was impossible for Santa to make it to every house where Christmas is celebrated, even when taking into account the time zones. Also, how could Santa possibly fit in anyone’s chimney? I was quite the logical thinker at an early age.
I can’t remember exactly, but it must have been around about the age of six or seven; in a rather odd episode of cognitive dissonance, I remember deliberately not telling my parents that I knew it was made up, because (in some weird way) I thought they still believed it. Doesn’t make any sense, I know.
I think I was about six when I realized that it was not a coincidence that Santa had the exact same distinctive handwriting as my mother. So, a notice to all you parents out there… use your best ransom-note style handwriting when putting “To: Little Johnny” on the presents. Oooo. Better yet how bizarre would it be to actually do the ransom note “magazine letter cut-out” thing on all your kid’s presents. Probably a bit too freaky but strangely fun none the less.
We always opened our presents on Christmas Eve, after getting home from the childrens’ program at church. I guess I thought Santa came while we were gone, to drop off one present, because I did see presents from relatives gathering before Christmas.
I was almost five(my birthday is New Year’s Ever) when we were leaving for church. It was dark, and Mom “forgot” something, and had to go back inside for a minute. Through a crack in the kitchen curtains I saw her put away the cookies and milk, and right then knew there was no Santa at all, and probably no Easter Bunny either. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to queer the deal for the other gifts.
Mom says that when I was almost eight she told me the truth about Santa, and that I said “I know that!” But I honestly don’t remember that.
When I was growing up, we “played the Santa Claus game.” My parents told us early on (so early I don’t remember), that it was a great game, like “hide and seek” or “go fish.” The more you pretended, the more fun it was. We had oooodles of fun. But no one was under any illusion that it was real. Just real fun. I remember when I was about 10, I got to be the one to sneak down late at night to eat the cookies and drink the milk. My brother got to stuff the stockings. There were always gifts from mom and dad AND some special ones from “santa.”
And, of course, we watched Miracle on 34th Street, and loved the magic and wonder of it all. Somehow our pretending was just as magical as if our parents had tried to fool us. We were “in” on the joke–and enjoyed it all the more.
I decided to handle it the same way with my children–because I believe trust is a fragile thing. And I didn’t want my children to think I would lie to them about anything. I still got to see their wonder and delight on Christmas morning. I also got to see their creativity as they tried to fool each other and their parents by leaving behind a corncob pipe or making reindeer footprints on the roof. (Apparently Dad helped with this–but my son climbed the ladder…)
My kids are mostly grown now and have have expressed appreciation that they never had to go through the shock and sadness of discovering their parents had deceived them.
It’s a fine line. But for those of you who found the discovery of the lie hurt your trust in your parents, consider playing it as a game–like costumes and pretend. Your children may find it as delightful as we did.
My Mom has a picture of me sitting on Santa Claus’ lap at the local mall. Little did I know that Santa was my own big brother. Didn’t have a clue it was him under that fake beard and wig. He got the Santa gig at the mall for a couple of years running, must have been a pretty good Santa, he fooled me.
My Santa discovery was pretty disappointing, and I’m not sure how old I was but I decided to pretend like I was sleeping and stay awake on Xmas Eve and catch a glimpse of Santa (I could see the tree from my room.). Imagine my innocence shattered as I watched my Mom and Dad puttting the presents under the tree. Ah well, such is life.
So my mom isn’t the only one. My brother and I are 31 and 35, respectively, and she still writes “From: Santa” on our gift tags. She also calls and sings “Happy Birthday” to us on our birthdays. She does it for our spouses, too. My husband thinks he married into an odd family, but secretly enjoys it.
