When my daughter Meredith was around 4 years old, we traveled together down to Florida to participate in my cousin’s wedding. It was in December, so, as it happened, Meredith had to miss the visit from Santa Claus to her nursery school. We flew first to Greensboro, NC, where my parents were living, and they took us to a nearby mall that afternoon, to see if we could find one of Santa’s “team” there. Sure enough, “Santa” was on his Santa throne, and as it was the middle of a weekday afternoon, Meredith was able to go right up to the old elf. “Well, hello there,” said Santa. “What’s your name?” Meredith smiled conspiratorially. “Oh, you know.” She had heard the songs and the stories. Santa knows every child, whether they’ve been naughty or nice and all that. So, of course, Santa knew her name. “You know,” she said with great assurance. The man laughed, and said, “Sure I do, but why don’t you just remind me?” “You know,” Meredith said again, not giving in. The poor man looked up at me, and I just smiled and shrugged.
