my son let me believe that he believed
in Santa Claus. We suspected he'd known.
He's a smart kid, logical, and wouldn't
be bullshitted for long. The real disappointment
is his disappointment that we are all complicit
in perpetuating this ruse. After all,
if we'd lie about this, what else is a lie?
Religion? Democracy? the promise that you can
be whatever you want to be when you grow up?
We got a live tree again this year, a Fraser fir
that smells like a childhood Christmas.
My son and I set up the model train
encircling the trunk. I'm not sure
his heart was in it. Perhaps he's still
disenchanted, I thought, as he raised the lever
bringing the small locomotive to life.
Then he blew the whistle and smiled at me,
his face illuminated by strings of lights,
a glowing star high above. Belief, or not
it will soon be Christmas morning.
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| Ride Along |
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