Grif set the package down with more than a little strategy. He had chosen to label it “From Santa” to make it more enticing. And its placement under the tree, near the front but not in the front, was quite specific. He knew his son well enough to know he’d go for it first. Maybe second but that was a maybe.

When the morning rush came and little feet battered the stairs, Grif smiled into his coffee. Time to test the theory, not that it ultimately mattered.

Little Travis threw himself, after the requisite “Merry Christmases”, into the pile lining the fake tree in the corner. He grabbed up a box, shook it for a listen, set it down. Then another; same thing. Then he reached the special present.

It worked. He tore open the plain paper straight away. Inside the box within, he withdrew the present itself; a set of old, now discolored army men. The boy paused at their antiquity, puzzled. Then he looked to his father.

In the moment he wanted to explain the whole thing, mystique be damned, but no. Those little soldiers got him through a dark time in his own childhood and they would help his son through the same.

He opened his mouth to ask if he liked them and the boy, rather gently, set them aside and began to open another.

Grif once more smiled into his coffee.