I sat at the girls’ table in my second grade Sunday School class, waiting for the teacher to arrive. The boys, as usual, sat at the back table arguing with each other over which family owned the best car, which team would win the next Superbowl, and other important philosophical questions of life.

"Santa Claus!" one of the boys shouted to another, laughing obnoxiously. "No way! Are you stupid or what? Everybody knows there is no such thing as Santa Claus!" Several of the other boys joined him in obnoxious laughter.

Until this moment, however, the thought that Santa Claus was only an imaginary character had never occurred to me. In fact, the idea had not yet occurred to any of the girls who sat at my table.

Kim, a pretty petite blonde, who was the "teacher’s pet" in both my Sunday School class and elementary school class, was the first to speak: "Don’t listen to the boys." She took on a new role as our protector, as she stood up from her miniature wooden chair. "Santa Claus is a real person. My parents told me he is. So it has to be true. Right?" Kim’s father was a newscaster on television, so we knew him to be a reliable source of information.

"Right," we agreed with her. After all, my parents had told me Santa Claus was real, and what purpose would they have in lying to me?

The Sunday School teacher entered the classroom carrying her usual stack of construction paper, the coffee-can container of peeled broken crayons, and the offering plate which some former teacher had made years ago from a margarine tub.

The issue was settled.

Santa Claus was a real person.

Life went on.

A few weeks later, my parents called me into their room for a discussion. As the eldest child, I had learned early that being called into Mommy and Daddy’s room for a discussion usually meant that one was in some kind of trouble. I feared the worst.

"We’ve been meaning to talk with you about this for a while now," my father started. Then he dove right in: "You know Santa Claus is not a real person."

"Yes he is," I argued, "What about all of the presents and toys he left?"

"We pretended Santa Claus was real," my mother started to explain to me, "so Christmas would be more fun for you. But now you are too old to believe in Santa Claus anymore."

"No Santa Claus?" I asked. "Well, what about The Easter Bunny and The Tooth Fairy?" I knew the answer before I asked.

"It’s kind of like Snoopy or The Cat In The Hat," my father told me. "You know they aren’t real people, yet they can still be fun to read about and watch on TV."

"I understand," I said bravely.

My parents had lied to me.

I stood in the doorway to my parents’ bedroom watching part of my childhood innocence being trampled upon by tradition and well-meaning family fun.

The issue was settled.

Santa Claus was no longer a real person.

And sadly, life went on.