A Grandfather’s Duty
George was watching an engrossing drama when his grandson came crashing into the living room to tug relentlessly on his sleeve.
“Grandpa, Grandpa! Is it really true that you’re Santa Claus?”
“What? No.” Eyes glued to the television, he shook his elbow until the tiny hand lost its grasp on his sleeve.
“But, but you have a white beard, and a big tummy…”
“Get your hands off of there. I told you already I’m not.”
“But Daddy said you look like Santa because you’re Santa…”
“Did he? Then he was lying. Go on, run along. I’m busy.”
The child looked crestfallen. Off he went with a pout on his lips, ready to tattle to his father.
And tattle he did. Just as George was getting to an interesting scene, his son burst into the room much like his grandson had. Who they inherited that from, George wasn’t sure.
“Dad! Why didn’t you play along?”
“I refuse to take part in your absurd charade. I’m watching a movie.”
“For God’s sake, it’s Christmas eve! Just do this one thing for your grandson, won’t you?”
“I gave him presents.”
“Well, yeah, I guess, but—“
George reached for the remote and turned up the volume. His son took it as a sign that the conversation was over, and sighed.
“Guess I’ll heat up dinner…”
~ ~ ~
Dinner came in the form of roast chicken from the supermarket and microwaveable white rice. George was fully immersed in his meal, but he could feel his son’s eyes on him all throughout. He knew just what he was about to say…
“Dad, you really should eat some veggies.”
There it was. George took his sweet time to chew before he replied. “I’m old enough to do what I want. Worry about your own son.”
There was something amusing about the way his grandson made himself as unassuming as possible to escape the attention. Alas…
“You know what? You’re right. I think I’ll add more veggies to his diet from now on. Oh, and no more cookies.”
“Aw, Daddy!”
George smirked down at his plate. He’d sneak the poor kid a cookie or three when his son wasn’t looking.
~ ~ ~
The way the kid seized and monopolized the television after dinner almost made George regret the cookies.
“Come on, Dad, leave him be. It’s his favorite cartoon.”
“And that’s my favorite TV. Your point being?”
His son threw his hands on his head. “Would it kill you to show some holiday spirit? You don’t even see him that often.”
“Like I said, I gave him presents.” Cookies, too. “And we had a lovely Christmas meal. Consider my duties fulfilled.”
“That’s just the bare minimum, and you know it. You—“
“Just a moment!”
“What?”
“I’ll be there in a moment!” George yelled again, louder this time.
“Oh, not this again…”
“It’s my bed, you see. It’s calling for me. So I guess I’m going to have to call it a night.”
His son seemed to have finally given up all hope. “Fine, whatever. Go to your bed. We’ll stay until the cartoon’s done, then I’ll lock the door behind us.”
And that was that. Exchanging nary a word with the kid still glued to the TV, Grandpa George merrily disappeared into the dark corridor leading to his bedroom.
~ ~ ~
The cartoon came to an end in a flurry of sound and color, waking up the father who had dozed off on the couch. Like father, like son, he realized much to his chagrin.
“Come on, kiddo. Time to go home.”
The kid nodded slowly. His eyelids were heavy with drowsiness, but then one glance at the window sparked a whole new burst of energy.
“Daddy, look!”
The father turned to see what his son was pointing at, and found none other than Santa himself, red suit and all, traipsing across the lawn…
…and Mister Claus happened to look an awful lot like Grandpa George.
“Santa’s here!” The kid bounced around the living room. “He’s really here! I can’t believe it, Daddy! I can’t believe it!”
Santa waved at the two, and they both waved back.
“Yeah, I can’t believe it either, buddy.”