Papers were scattered across the floor, bright wrappings in tangled heaps, dull newsprint lying in flat carpet-squares. Boxes were torn and upended and toys ruled supreme.
Father and grandfather crouched on living-room floor, aching knees ignored. Backs bent; wrists reached; eyes glowed with pleasures in store. They fitted track to terminus, circle to straight, and loops to points. They snapped the cars to carriages to engine and flipped the switch.
“Daddy,” said the child.
“In a minute. Nearly done.”
“Please,” said the child, hands on hips, staring down hopefully. “Isn’t it my turn to play with my Christmas presents now?”