I vaguely remember when it was that I found out Santa wasn't real. I was in middle school, probably about 8 years old. It was coming up to Christmas and I recall a classmate a propos of nothing saying: "You know Santa isn't real, don't you?" At varying levels, I instantly believed them and confirmed scathingly that of course I knew. I didn't know. Hadn't even suspected. But it wasn't exactly a life-shattering blow to me for a few reasons: 1) My parents did not make a huge thing out of Father Christmas. He wasn't held up as a figure whom you must appease or else be stricken of all your presents come December 25th. 2) I had not thought a great deal about the logistics of a man traveling around the world in a flying sleigh in one night merrily chucking out gifts to all and sundry. Sure, his handwriting looked suspiciously like my mum's, but I wasn't interested in putting two and two together. I just took it as all as something that happened
Trying my best. It's just not that great.