He grabs the dusty cardboard box and bustles down the attic ladder and into the living room. I follow. Already unwrapping each wooden figure from the tissue-paper cocoon that is theirs for eleven months of the year, he announces each one’s arrival. Though he bears the same name as the scene’s father figure, my son is drawn not to that one but to those bearing gifts. “They’re far away now, but will find Him eventually,” he notes, offering more wisdom than he realizes. Finishing, he begins to hum just as the sun breaks through clouds and streams into the room.
Erin Taylor lives in Virginia with her spouse, teen and tween sons, and two cats who preside.