He came up to me about two weeks before Easter while I was reading a book. He sidled up to the bed with a perplexed look on his handsome young face.

“Mommy, I have a question.”

“OK,” I said, “go ahead.”

“Mommy, I want you to tell me the truth. Is the Easter Bunny for real?”

Crap.

Was I really getting this question already? Why had I thought I had more time?

“Wellllll…” I tried to stall for time. “I, uh, will tell you the truth if you really want to know the truth.”

“Yes, Mommy, I really want to know the truth.”

Sigh.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Fine. I can’t straight-faced lie to the kid, can I?

So the truth was told about who the Easter Bunny really was, which quickly led to similar conclusions about the Tooth Fairy, and finally that last holdout, Santa.

To be honest, we both were a bit teary eyed at the loss of these childhood fantasies, but I think I took it a little harder. Actually, it didn’t take long for him to start crowing about what he had learned to family members. On pain of having no Easter hunt, Easter Bunny or no, he was threatened cautioned to not tell anyone his newfound knowledge.

On Easter Sunday we had an egg hunt with family and friends, one with children of all ages, including ones younger than him.

I sort of held my breath as a non-family member suggested where the Easter Bunny had left some eggs, and I heard him say loudly and for the benefit of the three year old next to him, “Oh yes, the Easter Bunny did a good job at hiding the eggs!”

Good lad.