Diary of A Norfolk Broad (Who Killed the Tooth Fairy?)

First I should explain one thing. In my family we have a tendency to be a bit behind with our dental development. My Mum tells me it's a trait which comes from her side of the family. The fact is, we get our teeth late. My wisdom teeth didn't appear until my thirties, and I think my Mum is still waiting for hers. At primary school my son still had a full shiny set of baby teeth long after his friends had grinned proudly with gaps and then ridiculously large teeth that sprouted from their gums at peculiar angles. It is for this reason that we continued the tradition of the tooth fairy; squealing with delight and 'surprise' when shiny coins were discovered with awe the morning after a visit from said magical being (long after it was perhaps sensible). But it is always easy to be wise after the event, as I found to my cost.
This morning I did a terrible thing.
My eleven year old son who is in his third week of secondary school told me he didn't think he believed in the Tooth Fairy anymore. (He had come out of school yesterday, carrying his toothy 'trophy' with delight, after it had wiggled it's way out in geography). Last night we had carried out the normal childhood deception of leaving the coin under the pillow, expecting to hear the usual delighted cries this morning of, "She's been!" (it's a pound these days, even for little teeth - god knows how much we'll be forking out for our three year old when his time comes - I expect we'll be leaving a crisp tenner on the bedside table by then - I'd better start saving now).
However, this morning was a little bit more low-key and I sensed a change. This is to be expected after all. He's an eleven year old boy who's suddenly feeling extremely grown-up, having learnt how to tie his school tie last week, being reminded constantly that he's a 'High School Bloke' now, and no longer a little boy (except in my eyes anyway, but I am his Mother, and moreover a Jewish Mother which (trust me) is even worse.
So when he casually declared his sudden revelation I was partly relieved and partly saddened by the end of this little bit of his childhood. After all, I was getting slightly anxious that if he now went to school and announced proudly that the tooth fairy had visited him last night, at best he would be teased relentlessly for the next five years until he went to college, or at worst would be beaten up, resulting not only in more visits from the tooth fairy, but also the dentist and the plastic surgeon. I was therefore totally unprepared for the reaction I received when I admitted that perhaps he had good reason for his doubts, and then, after eleven years of creating this wonderfully convincing myth, with one sleepy but cautious confession I crushed his world - I killed that poor, innocent, kindly giver of joy and money - I killed the tooth fairy!
But worse was to come. He now doesn't believe in Father Christmas either, and that, I think , is harder for me to come to terms with than him, for come Christmas Eve this year when I am merrily creating trails of Santa foot-prints in icing sugar, and leaving tea-stained thank you notes for the mince pies and carrot offering, he might just go along with it for the sake of his mad, sentimental mother - but then again, he might not.