Every Christmas Eve, my brother and I would put out milk and, carrots and cookies for "Santa and his reindeer". On Christmas morning, we would come down to open presents only to find that- *gasp* - there were bite marks in the cookies! The carrots had been nibbled, and the milk was drained! It must be Santa, he must have come to our house.
I humored my mom until I was 18, when she even made reindeer tracks in the snow outside. By then, I thought it was perfectly reasonable to not believe in Santa and that I could say it aloud.
That did not go well.
So now I'm 21 years old, and when my mother tells me that Santa is coming, I smile and give her a look.
"Really Ma? Is he really?"
"Oh yes, remember last year when we saw the deer tracks on the ground!?!"
"Yeah, I remember..."