The boy has been obsessively writing love letters. To Santa Claus. At his age, my son ascribes the same kind of omniscience to Old St. Nick that he does to god. Which is to say with a complete and blind-faith devotion that only children can possess. I don’t have the heart to tell the boy that he’s buttering up the wrong chubby guy in a suit if he’s looking for a Christmas-day payoff. I’m holding my tongue about god. For now.