There once was a little girl, who was quite tiny and cherub-like on her very first Christmas.
Only four months old, to be exact.
And her very proud parents did what many well-meaning parents do.
They took her to see Santa Claus. Her older brother knew the routine one must follow in order to get the goods from the Big Bearded Man.
You write a nice note, you sit on his lap and chat a bit, smile for the pictures, and swear up and down that you’ve been nice (not naughty). This would be the first year her brother could add I’ve been nice to my sister to his list of good deeds.
This little girl, however, was not on board.
She was deer-in-the-headlights scared to be sitting on Santa’s lap, which then led to tears. So sad to see such a little one crying in Santa’s workshop.
Her parents chalked it up to her littleness.
Problem is, several years later she had never outgrown her dislike of Santa.
And yet, we kept on taking her to see him.
For a picture like this, wouldn’t you?