As my four-year-old granddaughter, Macy, stared at the bearded chap dressed head-to-toe in red, her lip quivered, and tears began to fall.
“It’s okay, darling,” my daughter, Caroline, soothed, scooping her up.
It was December 2003, and Macy was visiting Santa at the Greensborough Plaza in Melbourne, although it wasn’t quite the reaction we’d hoped for. I longed to comfort her, but couldn’t. Unbeknownst to her, the scary man in the red suit was me! I was the plaza Santa.
The next day, she told me about her encounter.
“Grandpa, there was a scary man at the shops yesterday,” she said.
My belly shook like a bowl full of jelly as I tried not to giggle!
Our whole family – my wife Elvia, 77, our three kids, eight grandkids and…
