Two kids in their crisp, white uniforms are having a mini-argument in an aikido dojo.

"I can't wait for Santa Claus to bring me my presents for Christmas," says one boy of about eight.

"You do know that there is no Santa Claus, right? It's just your parents," retorted his friend, bigger and bespectacled.

Standing near them, winding down from his weapons-training class, my 61/2-year-old son doesn't react. But he doesn't miss a thing either.

A few days later, the Supportive Spouse tells me that the questions about whether Santa Claus is real have begun.

"What did you say?" I ask.

"I said that Santa delivers the gifts to those around the North Pole first, but he has so many to deliver that he needs help for the rest of the world."

I married a diplomatic genius.

Still, it made me wonder how long we can keep up the charade.

When my son was three years old, a local furniture company brought in the "official" Santa Claus from Finland and invited us to go and meet him. Camera in hand, we took the boy to a light industrial building in the Henderson park, where we sat next to the man with a big white beard and a red velvet outfit.

In the photograph of us there, the boy looks resolutely glum. He'd refused to say a word to Santa, much less say what he wanted for Christmas.

Over the years, there has been other evidence that Santa exists. Typewritten cards. E-mail, in which he mentions Mrs Claus. The boy, who believes in empiricism, has amassed enough proof to be convinced.

There are two schools of thought when kids start asking questions about Santa: 'Fess up as gently as you can, with hankies on hand for the tears; or deny, deny, deny his non-existence.

When it comes to most things in life, I would go for the "honesty is the best policy" route. But, when it comes to Santa, I'm opting for the latter strategy.

My reasons are partly selfish. Now, whenever the kids ask for a big-ticket toy item, I tell them I have no money. So they end up writing polite e-mail requests to Santa and waiting until Christmas. Think of Santa as the agent of delayed gratification, if you will.

If there is no Santa, the floodgates of desire will open: I would be fielding requests for toys all year round. So, please, stay, St Nick.

In 2006, parents were up in arms after a school in England dismantled the myth of Father Christmas.

Primary 5 pupils were told that the post office answered the letters sent to Santa, and then asked to write "pretend" letters to children to explain why the requests for presents had been refused.

Talk about being a killjoy.

How long are you going to keep this up, asks the Supportive Spouse. For as long as the kids like it, I reply.

After all, I don't remember anyone sitting me down to tell me anything to take away the magic of Santa Claus. You just figure it out for yourself later that Christmas is when adults love you enough to indulge your fantasy.

Anyway, Liz Lemon may already have provided the answer for my boys.

In a Christmas episode of 30 Rock, the American sitcom starring Tina Fey, lonely Liz buys presents for some kids in the Letters To Santa programme. When she thinks she has been scammed, she deliberately reveals herself as the source of the gifts to the young recipients.

The kids promptly scream: "You mean there's no Santa?!" At this, their fathers rebuke her: "What is wrong with you?"

Transfixed by the crazy, funny scene on TV, my sons don't say a word.

But they don't miss anything either.

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