Terry Marotta: I don't know about these holidays anymore

<span>He was only 2, but he was a man in a hurry, his little necktie flying back, his shirt collar yanked open under his blue blazer as he ran through this crowded mall: from Mom, hot on his heels; from the yawning maw of the heavily frosted Santa's Village; maybe even from this Big-Boy bully of a holiday itself. And all I could think seeing him go was "I'm with you, kid." </span>