Our church held a neighborhood Christmas party on Friday. The poster announced the location: Whoville. The cultural hall (aka full-court gym) had been transformed into the snowy town from which Mr. Grinch had attempted to steal Christmas from the Whos. The setting including an ice skating rink for kids in stockinged feet (the rink enthralled my two-year-old granddaughter Lila), a genuine snowless alpine sledding slope, the Whoville Charities booth accepting new winter coats, boots, gloves, and hats for the Boys & Girls Club, the Whoville Post Office where visitors could send cards to young people serving church missions abroad, a Who-house chimney into which little Whos tossed wrapped gifts that tumbled down into the house, the Whoville Hair Salon, a cookie decorating station, the Whoville Photo Studio taking pictures of children with the Grinch, and the Whoville Sweet Shop where children lined up for banana and orange and berry cotton candy faster than I could spin it. Wisps of sugar gossamer tickled my face and clung to my hair and clothing. Three-year-old Gabe exercised his insider privilege and stood on a chair spinning his own cotton candy, with a little help from me. Lila, too, helped herself to the sugary puffs. Mom and Dad brought a large bag with their donations, happy to have helped children who need warm winter clothing. Mom and Dad sat smiling with mirth as Whoville teamed with happy little Whos running around in their Who pajamas. Mom declared it to be “the best Christmas party I’ve ever attended.” Our Mr. Grinch already possessed a big warm throbbing heart, and made friends with all the children. In fact, the Grinch is Gabe’s new favorite superhero (so long Spiderman). A framed 8×10 of the duo sits prominently on Gabe’s nightstand.
Pictured above: Gabe and the Grinch