Why was he late? This was the fifth trolley car that stopped on the corner of fourth street and the avenue. Each time a yellow trolley stopped, five or six people got off. One time Dennis counted seven.  He knew some of them. People who lived on the same block. He even recognized a few people from the times during the year when he waited for his father. Some of them smiled at him, somehow knowing he was there to meet his dad. Or maybe it was the time of year. Stores were decorated with trees and Santa posters. Colorful Christmas lights were strung across the wide avenue.

School was out. The official countdown to Christmas morning had started. Just three more days. It was a windy day, the kind where the wind feels wet, as if it’s blowing invisible snow right through your body. Dennis had his report card in his back pocket, three As and four Bs. Only one C. It was a big improvement over his last one. As soon as he got home from school, he had proudly shown his mother. She smiled and said, “Maybe you should go down to the avenue and meet your father’s trolley when he comes home.” 

“That’s a great idea, Mom. Can I?”

“You’ll have to wait until 5:30, son. In the meantime, run over to the Italian bakery and get us a loaf of bread.” His mother watched him run across the street to the bakery before she picked up the phone.

For as long as he could remember, Dennis had wanted a Stan Musial model baseball glove. He was a Cardinals fan and Stan the man was the greatest St. Louis Cardinal ever. The one he wanted was sitting on the top shelf with the other higher priced gloves at Gillespie’s Sporting Goods Store. Dennis loved baseball and he was one of the better players in the neighborhood. His old glove was worn out. Since it wouldn’t be too long before he started high school, he needed a better glove. Sure, high school was two and a half years away, but he had to plan ahead. Gillespie’s was just five blocks up from his father’s stop. Not that the boy thought his father would take him to the store that afternoon. No, he would have to wait for Christmas.

After he got his last report card in October, he had lost all hope of ever getting the Musial mitt. For some reason, one even he couldn’t explain, he stopped doing his homework. He was tired of looking up vocabulary words and putting them into sentences. He was bored too with writing the times tables from one to twelve. The report card revealed his laziness. He got four Fs and two Ds. Nothing like that had ever happened before.

When he tried to get his mother to sign the card after his father left for work, she demurred. “Oh, no. Your father will have to see this before we sign it,” she said. He spent a full day worrying about facing his father, but when his father saw the card, all he said was, “You’ve been talking about that Musial glove you want since July. Looks to me like you just lost it.”

But they talked later that evening, just before Dennis’s bed time. His mother was sitting in her easy chair, knitting, while his father sat watching a western on their black and white television. “Dennis, if you still want that glove for Christmas, you have to bring those grades back up to where they were,” his dad said. But then he added, “On second thought, they have to be better than they ever were.”

“I guess I’m not getting that glove then.”

“With that attitude, you might not be allowed to use the glove you have now, come springtime,” his mother said. When he woke up the following morning, Dennis knew what he had to do. Every night, he did his homework and turned it in. And, he got up early every morning for three weeks to make up the work he hadn’t done. He paid attention in class too. When he was completely caught up, he stopped by Mrs. Elliott’s desk and handed her the long overdue homework. She said, “I’m glad to see you’re doing your work again, but I can’t promise that this will affect your grades.” His face dropped. He missed the smile she couldn’t quite hide.  

Another Trolley approached. It came to a stop and one woman got off. Should he wait for another car? His fingers felt numb. He had forgotten his scarf and gloves and he was getting colder every minute. He was worried too. What if something happened at work? He decided to go home and wait for his father. Anyway, his mom would know if something was wrong.

He hurried up the back steps and walked through the kitchen door, looking forward to the warmth waiting on the other side. His father was sitting at the kitchen table reading the evening news. “How did you get home?” Dennis asked.

“Fellow at work gave me a ride,” his dad answered without looking up from his paper.

Dennis looked at his mom who was stirring a pot on the stove. She smiled and then winked. “Do you have something to show your father?”

Dennis pulled his report card from his pocket and handed it to the man who would decide his fate. His father looked the card over carefully. “I don’t know about that C, son. Might be too little too late.” He turned to his wife. “What do you think, mother?”

“I guess it will be up to Santa this year.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “I think I’m too old for that.”

His father put down his paper and tousled his son’s hair. “Never too old for Santa, young man. Never.”