Her since of humor would be considered refined at any age, but it is all the more notable since Mags is only 12.  It takes some work to get her to smile, and you have to set the bar higher than you do for most.  If you are successful, your reward is usually but a brief, wry grin.

It was getting late, and there were four of us in a detached garage.  A wood burning stove kept us warm, a big screen television provided the entertainment, and a dorm sized refrigerator provided a little pre-holiday cheer.  Mags, of course, did all of that too.

“Where’s your mother at?” I asked.

“She’s putting presents under the tree.”

“For Santa?”  She looked at me dryly.

“That ship sailed a long time ago,” and her face relented with a slight twinkle in her eye.

There she sat, then.  Eagerly having let go of what she needed to in older to grow older, only to wind up old someday, like the rest of us, and trying in vain to grab it back.

“Suppose any have your name on them?”  That brief, wry grin was the only response.

“Dad, could I have another Mountain Dew?”

“No.  It’s late.  You’ll be going to bed soon.  I think you’ve had enough.”

She was disappointed, but she never raised an objection.  I tossed an empty can to the container in the back corner, and I reached into the dorm fridge for a beverage of my own.  Out with it, came a Mountain Dew.  Responsibility could wait for another day.  I slid it over to her, behind her father ahead.

The grin broke into an all out smile, a silent giggle that finally betrayed her youth.  Though that youth was beyond me now, it wasn’t beyond her yet.  Secretly she sipped it, and all the more talkative she got.  She laughed and laughed, and I did too.  We all did.

If our youth is beyond us, it thankfully isn’t beyond the young yet.  I suppose it is their gift to the old.  They would never believe that it was far too big to ever get under a tree.