by David Todd McCarty | Friday, December 18, 2015
There is a story that is very much a part of the lore of Christmas in my house. It involves my mother and she doesn’t even remember it happening.
She was in Macy’s buying a pair of gloves for someone, presumably by father, and there was a line at the register. It was the height of the season and tensions were high. The cashier was apparently getting frazzled and by the time my mother got to him he expressed his displeasure.
“I’m sorry,” he said after snapping about something. “I’m just tired.”
“Well,” my mother countered. “We’re all tired dear.”