My dearest Chris, my only child, I have a story to tell you. I have never told anybody this, not even your late father, Chris Sr. And I will take this story to my grave, after I tell you.

Many people have asked if Chris was really your father. After all you really don’t look much like him and we had been trying so hard for so long to have a child that there was bound to be some speculation. When I was asked this, I always got indignant and said, “Well of course, he is his son. Who else could it be?” Well tonight, the night after your father’s funeral, I will tell you.

It all happened ten days before Christmas, the year before your birth. I was late getting my packages ready to send to friends and relations, that year. I was rushing to the post office, hoping to get there before it closed, and I did, just barely. The postal employee was walking to the door with the keys to lock it, when I entered with my arms full of packages.

Behind me entered nice young man, probably just a teenager, with brown hair and a broad grin. We were the last two to get in before they barred the doors for the night.

He had just a single small package to ship, so I asked him if he wanted to go ahead of me. He told me no, that I had gotten there first, and he was not in a rush.

That small post office had about twelve people ahead of me, crowding the room. They had three people, including the man with the keys, helping expedite the handling of the customers’ needs, but it still took a while for them to get to me.

Like most strangers standing in line, I didn’t talk to the other people also waiting. The young man, if I remember right, spent most of his time on his phone, texting, I think.

There was a glassed covered counter, that advertised new stamps, that followed the line. I set my mountain of packages there, while I waited.

Many of the people in front of us, had special shipping needs, such as priority shipping and fragile packages, that required extra time. I would say that we were waiting at least forty-five minutes for our turn.

As I got close to my turn, I started looking at the young man, using my peripheral vision. He was good looking. He had a youthful vigor that reminded me of some of the guys that I had dated when I was in high school. I guess I got carried away with my remembrances, because I my cheeks got red, and I felt my panties get moist.

Finally, it was my turn. I looked at the man behind me and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to go first? Mine might take a while.”

He shook his head. “Quite sure. It’s your turn.”

A bit flustered, I nodded and picked my parcels up off the counter, and carried them to the employee’s desk.

I had mentioned the people with complicated shipping problems, well I was one of them. All of my late shipments had to be sent priority mail, and one of them had to be sent overseas. I was told that it probably would not arrive in time for Christmas. I said that that was fine. What choice did I have?

The two junior postal workers had already left, and there was only the one employee remaining to handle the last customers. I felt the young man’s presence burning into my back. I glanced back, and saw him waiting. He was standing there, contented, with that same pleasant grin on his oval face.

After I was finished, I stepped away and let the young man, as the last customer, step

forward ... The exit door was locked, and all the people before me had been let out by the penultimate employee, before he left for the night. So, I waited for the young man to finish his business.

To my shame, his shipment was simple. He finished his business in thirty seconds. He really should have gone ahead of me.