The little 5-year old, who lived down the street, never knew the advice and love of a father. His mother worked long hours to pay the rent and put food in his tummy, so Tyrone pretty well took care of himself. He was black and poor, like so many who have moved into our neighborhood in the last few years.

Tyrone and I became friends. He often came to see me and sat on my lap talking and reading books. I loved to have Tyrone's company. He was a pleasure to have around.

Christmas came, and candy, fancy nut-meats and fruits were out for all. Being on a fixed income, I could not spend a lot of money for some high priced gift for Tyrone, but got a small toy for him. I took it to his mother and told her to put it with the other gifts for the little boy wonder. She said she would and then Tyrone would get two toys, instead of one.

Their Christmas dinner would be Spam with sour-dough bread, and an apple pie for desert. Not much compared to the fine food the middle-income people like our family would enjoy.

Christmas afternoon, Tyrone came to see me. He showed me the toy horse his mother had given him and the Tonka Truck I had presented. He was so happy with his meager Christmas.

Tyrone then climbed on my lap and ask, "Granpa, is Santa white or black?"

The question threw me for a loop and I struggled to come up with the proper answer. "Gee, I never thought of it," I said. "I supposed he could be either."

Tyrone answered, his little eyes fixed directly on me, "I think he is white."

Here was a little boy who had known a lot of pain and associated the men in his life as someone who may hurt him. This small bundle of love was happy just happy to be alive.

"Why do you think Santa is white?" I asked, really wanting to hear his reason.

"Because," He said, "Santa is kind and good, just like you, and you are white!"

Little Tyrone died in August and I lost a very good friend. I thank God every day for bringing that wonderful bundle of love into my life, for I am much richer for having known him. I know that Almighty God knows what is best, but I often wonder just what might have been...

- - - Tom Nance