My husband took it upon himself to break the news to our youngest that there was no Santa Claus. (I was a little irritated at being left out of the loop on this, but he meant well. Actually, I had to apologize later for a couple of things I said).
Gary sat Sam down, handed him a piece of candy and said, "Son, we need to talk about Santa Claus."
Sam paused in the middle of opening his Tootsie Roll and said, "Oh, you mean that there's no such thing?"
"Uh, yeah," said Gary, startled.
"I already know Dad. It's okay." He reached out and patted his Dad's shoulder. "There isn't an easter bunny or tooth fairy either."
Gary said that he didn't quite know how to proceed after that. Sam went on to chat with him about other mythologies as well and then they moved on to talks about football in the park. A far safer subject matter for both men, I think.
This morning, as I we were learning about Division, I stopped in the middle of counting out pieces of candy (Can you tell we're still getting rid of the Halloween booty?) and asked Sam, "How long have you known there was no Santa Claus?"
He grinned. "Since I was seven."
"How did you figure it out?"
"Come on, Mom. One guy, a bunch of magic reindeer? It wasn't that hard."
"Then why didn't you tell us?"
And he looked at me with a wise expression and said gently, "Because I didn't want to make you sad."
Shoot. That was my last believer . . .