I don't remember a clear time when I stopped believing in Santa Claus, but I do remember some of the hints along the way. I especially remember how my parents would ask me what Santa Claus was bringing for Christmas and giving them coy answers, to see if Santa could know what I wanted even if I didn't tell him.

It didn't bother me whether or not Santa Claus was real, and I played along when my sister asked my parents. I knew who the real agent behind Santa Claus, was, though, and in third grade made sure to carefully explain to my parents why Santa should bring me chickens for Christmas. I couldn't maintain plausible deniability any longer, though, when my father took me out to clear away ground for construction of a coop on Christmas Eve.