"Well, suppose we give you a present anyway, and you try very hard to be good between now and next Christmas, eh? Ho-ho-ho-ho!"
We'd gotten him a set of chess men. He took the package without looking at it. "Where's Daddy?" he asked suddenly.
It was so unexpected, so matter-of-fact, that it caught me off balance. The Kids were always too excited on Christmas morning to worry about where Daddy might be.
"Well, sir ... ho-ho-ho ... ah, Daddy was kinda sleepy this morning, so he thought he'd rest up a bit and let Mommy and Santa Claus look after things—Merry Christmas, Adam-Two! Now, let's see who's next—"
I turned to pull another package from the sled, and Adam took one quick step forward, grabbed my beard and yanked hard! It came away in his hands, and there I stood with my naked Daddy-face exposed to all the Kids.
The silence was immediate, and deadly.
Then I heard Adam's sudden, sharp intake of breath that was almost like a sob. I glanced at him for just an instant, but in that instant I glimpsed the terrible disappointment he must have felt. It was all there, in his eyes and in his face. He hadn't wanted that beard to come off. He'd wanted Santa Claus to be real....
He turned away from me and faced the Kids, holding that phony beard high over his head. "You see!" he shrilled. "It's just like I said! There really isn't any Santa Claus. He's just—just make-believe, like the fairies and—and—" His voice broke and he threw the beard down, jumped off the stage and ran toward the exit.
Ruth called to him. "Adam! Come back here at once!"
"Let him go, Mommy." I looked ruefully out at our stunned and silent audience. "We've got something more important to do first."