A Calculated Risk with Santa

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I'm braving the holiday crowds in the mall. I take a quick break from my shopping list, buy a cinnamon pretzel and sit on the side of a planter. The line for free Santa Claus photos runs right past me and curls around the jewelry store at the corner of this wing. Children of all shapes and colors wait in line with their adults. Some are excited, others afraid, a few indifferent. The line inches forward and soon there is a toddler in front of me, wailing. She wears a red velvet dress, white tights with little green Christmas trees and black patent leather shoes. Her mother sighs, hands on hips. She tries to pick the child up, who lifts her arms straight up in the air and goes limp. Mom struggles with the dead weight.

A little boy, around four, is in front of them with his mother. He looks repeatedly at the crying girl and then peers to Santa, at least 15 kids away. He wears a red sweater vest, plaid pants and a tiny red bow tie. He grabs his mother's hand and turns to the whining girl:

Boy: Don't cry! Little girl, don't cry. (He looks at his mother, who smiles him on)

Girl: Looks briefly at the boy and continues to cry.

Boy: Stop crying! Santa doesn't like it. He doesn't like it when you cry.

Girl: Cries louder.

Boy: Hey, little girl? You can go before me? (He looks at his mom, who caresses his chin and nods in agreement to the girl's mom.)

Girl's Mom: Oh, that's so nice of you honey. Are you sure?

Boy's Mom: It's okay, go ahead. I've been there. (The pairs exchange places in line.)

Boy's Mom: That was very kind of you, baby.

Boy: It's good! Santa will like me more after her because I'm not crying.