I was in 3rd grade when I found out the truth about Santa. Despite having two older brothers, they weren't the ones to spill the beans. I'm pretty sure my mom threatened their lives. I'm the baby, after all. She wanted me to believe for as long as possible.
I remember sitting at the dinner table, turning to my mom, and saying:
"Ya know what Laura told me today at school? She told me that she found presents in her upstairs closet before Christmas and they said, "From Santa" on them, but obviously Santa doesn't come until Christmas Eve. Her mom was hiding them up there. So what the fuck does that mean?"
Okay, maybe I didn't say fuck. Or maybe I did. This was a big deal.
She was busted. The jig was up. My mom is a terrible liar, and even at the tender age of 8, I knew I caught her. But I was torn... I had letters from Santa! Plus, I was positive her and my father didn't like the cookies I left out for him, so who half ate them? I remember walking downstairs the next day, letter in hand, and saying "But who wrote this? This isn't your handwriting."
PS - Santa always writes in all caps. AmIright?
I eventually let it go, chalked it up as a loss in my childhood. I might have told one of my younger cousins that he wasn't real just to have someone to commiserate with.
Recently, my mom told me the story about how my oldest brother found out. I can't remember how old he was at the time, but he said to her, "Mom, please be honest. Is Santa real?" After some hesitation, my mom replied, "No, he isn't." My brother began to cry and said, "HE ISN'T?!"
Talk about heartbreaking. Talk about Mother of the Year.
How old were you when you found out?