the little elf in his pocket

I love carnivals. On holidays grandaddy would take me there. We'd take rides and play games. Grandaddy had a brilliant aim. I would take 2 shots and he would take the last. We would always win a prize.

During bad weather i would stay at home. Grandaddy would make sure i wasn't alone. He'd pull coins from his ears and predict the cards that i hold in my palms. I spent good cold days wondering how it was done.

My baby sister would scream in my arms. But cheerful and glee she would smile through his charm. Grandaddy had a way with people. I've never met anyone whom didn't like him. I've always wondered what it is about him.

I love my toys. I take them out to play on my free days and keep them right straight after. But every once in awhile my toys fall apart. I would try to fix them before i begin to cry. Grandaddy always managed to put them back together again.

Grandaddy could do anything. "How did you do that?", i remember asking him so often as my face lit with amazement and glee and every time he would place his hand in his pocket and say, "I've got a magic elf in my pocket", as he smiled at me.

When grandaddy died, he lay still and quiet on his bed. When the sad faces began to leave and the quiet from this face diffused through the room, i reached into that very pocket.