After a bright smile of greeting, my grandson’s broad, innocent face clouded with distress. When he hugged me he whispered, through a choking sob. “There’s no Santa.”
“Of course there is, silly.”
The sigh of relief shared a humbling totality of trust. I said, “we can clear this up later.”
My almost-hard stare made him smile. One raised eyebrow was enough. Reassured, he bounced away and into a world of games, fun and noise.
Truth to tell
After lunch I settled, comfortable, in the battered old chair in my study. He came in, as I knew he would, climbed up the arm and settled against my chest.
He started to choke back sobs, but couldn’t constrain them. “There’s no Santa.” I swung him in front of me, a solid young five-and-a-half year old. His nose bubbled and tears washed down his cheeks. I opened my arms…