The small child, safely strapped into his car seat, listens.  His father drives.  At first, his mother is silent.

And then …

“This is ridiculous.  Why have you turned left?  Straight into impossible traffic?”

“You always think you know best.”

“Because you take no notice.  Just like …”

“Oh yes?  Like everything else I do wrong?”

The small child closes his eyes, covers his ears with his woollen mittens.  Shuts out sight, refuses sound.  Instead, he tries to see lights from that enormous Christmas tree in the square, remember that song about the bells.

And then …

“Sorry,” his father says.

“No, sorry,” his mother says.  Offers a kiss, touches a hand.

The child smiles.

The Christmas Angel has safely returned.

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This Post Has One Comment

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    Nice! It reminds me of one of my favorite phrases of all time, from Abe Lincoln: “The better angels of our nature”. Which, by the way, is also the title of a book by one of my favorite authors, Steven Pinker.

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