Grandpa and I were standing in front of the Christmas tree, looking like we were about to film a holiday commercial for “Chaos & Sons.” The lights were twinkling, the presents were stacked like a small mountain range, and Grandpa had that look — the one where he’s pretending he’s in charge.

He leaned down and whispered,

“Alright, buddy. Big day. Big presents. Big responsibilities.”

I nodded like I was being sworn into office.

Then I spotted it.

A present behind his leg.

Suspiciously Grandpa‑shaped.

Suspiciously hidden.

“Grandpa,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “did you move my presents?”

He froze.

Mustache straightened.

Eyes widened.

And then he hit me with it:

“Woah woah woah—now hold on—nobody said anything about moving anything.”

Which is EXACTLY what someone who moved something would say.

I crossed my arms.

He crossed his arms.

We stared each other down like two sheriffs in a Christmas western.

Then he tried to distract me.

“You know,” he said, tapping my shoulder, “you’re getting big. Strong. You’re gonna play sports like your daddy. I can tell.”

I didn’t blink.

“Grandpa. The present.”

He sighed like I was exhausting him.

Then he crouched down, put his hands on his knees, and said,

“Listen, kid… sometimes presents shift. Gravity. Santa. Wind. I don’t know. Things happen.”

I pointed at the exact spot behind him.

He straightened his mustache again — the universal sign of Grandpa Is Thinking Up A Lie — and said,

“Woah woah woah, don’t go accusing me. I’m an old man. I don’t bend that far.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He cracked.

“Okay FINE,” he said, “I nudged it with my foot. But ONLY because I didn’t want Jack to see it first. That kid unwraps like a raccoon.”

Then he tickled me.

Because that’s what Grandpa does when he’s losing an argument.

I collapsed into giggles, and he said,

“See? Look at that. Fast reflexes. You’re definitely playing sports.”

When I finally caught my breath, I said,

“Grandpa… can we open the presents now?”

He held up one finger, very dramatic.

Then he put his arm around me, pulled me a little closer to the tree, and said,

“Couple more days, buddy. Then we go full Christmas. But for now? We take the picture, we guard the presents, and we make sure Jack doesn’t get any ideas.”

I nodded.

He nodded.

The tree twinkled like it was in on the plan.

And honestly?

Standing there with Grandpa, guarding the presents like two holiday security guards…

It felt like the start of something good.