I'm going to try and play this off as an adventure in parenting, but it is a little heartbreaking.

The final Cubscout Pack Meeting (the monthly meeting with all the scouts from 1st -5th grade) of the year was Friday. The plan was to go caroling around the neighborhood and then come back to the school for hot chocolate. Come one! Come all! Bring your families!

After the delusion of caroling (one woman, living in a house gloriously festooned with Christmas lights, I-kid-you-not opened her door, slammed it in our singing faces, and walked as far from her door as she could, probably to call the cops...some of whom were with us.) we came back to the cafeteria for cocoa when who should come in but...Santa Claus.

Several of the younger children (you know, the ones who still really believe) ran over to him with eager faces because he's more famous to them than the Wiggles, Thomas the Train and Barack Obama and he told them:

"Sorry guys! I only have presents for Cub Scouts!"

And at least three of these little guys burst into tears. My Vish dejectedly walked back to me and told me he hated Santa.

He hated Santa.

I almost burst into tears with him.

In a flash of parental wisdom I pulled him aside, away from all the shrieks of the older kids who were getting their gifts, and told him that this was not the real Santa. He was an Imposter pretend Santa and the real Santa was far too busy to drink watery hot chocolate and give out pinewood derby kits.

After the meeting, the Packmaster personally apologized to me and, for me, the whole thing has blown over.

But I wonder if it was one of those moments that Vish will remember forever.