I think that every child should have a chance to believe in something. When a child no longer has faith in fairies and unicorns winning the fight for good against wicked witches and smelly trolls, the the door to childhood slams shut smacking them right on the butt, and the cruel reality of adulthood stretches for far too many miles ahead.
Do you remember when your faith in the existence of Santa Claus was shattered? I can remember the exact moment. The night my balloon full of hope was popped and those dreamy fragments flew far and wide. I was 11 years, 4 months, and 24 days old. I suppose by today standards, I was way too old to believe in such things. I had suspicions of course, but hey, I just wasn't sure, and to keep all bases covered,.....well you know,,,
My sister and I shared a room with bunkbeds and since I was prone to sleep walk on occasion, I was stuck with the bottom bunk. I had stayed awake for as long as I could, listening for a jingle or the scrape of a hoof, just hoping. I guess I nodded off because suddenly I was awakened by a noise close to my head.
"Splat! Euuu---rrrr--ooopp, Splat!"
I opened my eyes to see falling streams of puke, just inches from my face, on it's way to the floor from the top bunk. I scooted to the end of the bed to avoid being blasted and climbed out to go report the event to mom. That's when it happened. There she was, head under the Christmas tree, ass in the air, placing a Barbie under the tree. MY Barbie! The one dressed in a hot pink bathing suit, with little pink shoes to match. She even had her own canvas awning covered swing where she could sit so prettily with her bendable legs! The Barbie I had hoped Santa would bring!
Needless to say, the revelation pretty much convinced me that Santa wasn't real and it took a long time before Christmas held it's magic over me again. I was very adult about it though, I kept the news to myself and let the slamming door hit my sisters in it's own time. I didn't push it at all.