His shoes were neatly polished and he had been wrestled into a collared shirt and tie. His dark jeans were a bit too long and he grumbled as his mother rolled the cuffs up. He hated getting dressed up for Sunday church. Especially on holidays, because then he had to look nice.
His mother gave him a candy cane to tuck into his coat pocket, and he took it eagerly, pudgy fingers tearing at the clear plastic wrapping. He bean sucking on it greedily, fingertips getting covered in red sugar.
They always walked to church, he and his mother. She took the hand that was not clutching his treat and together they would cross the street and continue on for a block until they arrived at the building with the big cross on top. He would always look up at it, remembering the man that had been nailed to it many years ago. He thought it was silly to nail a man to a cross.
The Rosarios always came to church too. He would find them in the crowd, where Lincoln would be standing dutifully at his father's side, collared shirt tucked into his slacks and the same little red tie hanging from the collar. Little Nina would have on a patterned dress, her hair held back by several colorful barrettes. Once he had gotten Lincoln to pull one out, which made Nina cry.
He showed Lincoln the remains of his candy cane before following his mother to a pew. Lincoln and Nina waved to him and he waved back as he sat down. His mother made tutting noises as she pulled out a handkerchief and, licking it, began to wipe his sticky fingers.
He never listened at church, for he did not understand what was going on. He would spend the rest of the hour turning round to catch glimpses of Lincoln and Nina when his mother wasn't looking and making funny faces at them. He loved it when he made Lincoln laugh, especially when it was deathly silent in the church.
((Tradition))