I Went to Apologize to My Ex-Wife on Christmas Eve. Then a Seven-Year-Old Boy Opened a Door I Thought Was Closed Forever
It was seven years of practiced care.
After dinner, Mason showed me the list he’d written for Santa.
Half the items were practical: new markers, a soccer ball, a book about planets.
At the bottom, squeezed into the margin, was a request for a grown-up tool kit “with safe tools.” I smiled at the spelling and asked whether he liked building things more than taking them apart.
“Both,” he said.