He pulled on hat, coat and gloves, reached for the keys and fumbled them. Taking off one glove, he knew this couldn't work, he couldn't use the key on the door with glove. The thermometer on the porch read -15.  The walk was unshoveled, 4" of new light snow. On the second crank, the engine stumbled to life, coughing once, then settled down.

The package was light, barely a pound. He'd checked his wallet, enough to send it express. Christmas was a tough time now, unless he could shut out the feeling of not doing enough. As he drove the potholed streets he calculated the time until the next check, figuring what was possible. 'What the fuck' the thought, turning the truck into a side street, left through the alley, then left again and right back up into town

The bank took less than 10 minutes, the drugstore less than that. Envelope in hand he felt relief, and that little part of his mind that kept coughing and saying in a abstract voice "Um, yeah, fine. Tell me about that last week of this month again. We're going to eat what?"

At the post office, the parking lot full, he nosed the truck up onto the frozen ice and pulled the parking brake. Inside, the line to the three clerks stretched out the first door, people like himself, careless and falsely unconcerned about the future.

 "How do you say 'It will all be alright"
When you know that it might not be true.
What do you do?"

Two people in front of him in line, the furthermost a mother, late twenties, early thirties, hard to say. She has an armload of packages, and yards in front of her to a place to put them down. The morning has clearly been long for her, wisps of hair trail down to a parka. At her side a girl, six or seven, the man is past being able to tell the young ages accurately. The girl seems entirely engaged in the moment, head swiveling about, taking it all in. The weather, the cold, the season aren't her concern. 

"Mom, what do you think those packages are?" she asks, hand tugging at her mom's coat, pointing.

"Careful what you say,
Children will listen."

The woman looks down. "I don't know." she says. The girl looks again, then sees the wall of the post office. Boxes, flattened and nailed to the wall, with prices underneath. "What are those for?" she asks her mom again, pointing.

 "Careful the wish you make,
Wishes are children.
Careful the path they take,
Wishes come true, not free."

"Jesus" the woman sighs, then looks down at the girl. "Listen, I don't know what the hell they are for ok? People send stuff, ok? How the hell do I know??" The girl looks at her mom, not in surprise, not in shock. She's seen this before, her few years have seen more than this. But there is a strange quality about this girl. Strange in only that it has persevered, and grown. This is apparent to the man, watching this unfold, his package forgotten in his arm.

The girl is silent for over a minute, moving with her mom slowly in the line. She looks outside, the firs near the window heavy with snow. Her head swivels back up. "Why do people send presents only at christmas?" she asks.

 "Careful what you say,
Children will listen.
Careful you do it to,
Children will see and learn.
Guide them but step away,
Children will glisten.
Temper with what is true
And children will turn,
If just to be free.
Careful before you say,
"Listen to me."
Children will listen.
Children will listen."

The mother turns, her body stiff with anger. "If you don't shut up, if you don't shut up, see those packages??" she says, pointing with a stiff arm and finger, trembling. "If you don't shut up, I'm going to put you in one and send you away!!"

She straightens up, aware now of people's attention. A silence ensues for perhaps a minute. The girl, undeterred, tugs her mother's parka. "To where?"

The man looks off, relieved somehow. A smile forms, as if to some distant memory. The day seems easier now. 
 

"Teach your parents well
Their children's hell will slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick's the one you'll know by

Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you"

*Lyrics Barbara Streisand and Graham Nash