Inside it was warm and the woodstove popped and crackled, my grandfather having just added fresh logs. The heavy iron door swung closed with a squeak and a clunk. In the corner of the room the Christmas tree twinkled like a universe unto itself, the ornaments different from ours at home, their origins mysterious. The wrapping paper pieces lay crumpled in greens, golds, and reds on the floor. My grandmother gathered them up now. A few she pressed and flattened out on the coffee table, salvaging them for next year. Those too torn were going into a black trash bag in the center of the room.

The adults were sitting on couches and in chairs along the walls of the room, drinking coffee and speaking of things which held little, if any, interest to a boy. The new pajamas, sweaters, and socks were stacked now, on the floor by the tree. The sweet smell of a holiday dinner cooking was beginning to waft through the air, mixing with the pine and the faint smell of smoke from the fire in the woodstove. The day wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and safe.

I had moved into a different room, away from all the others. On the floor, in the center of the room, I sat, my legs in the shape of an M. The colored plastic airstrip and landscape was laid out, the plastic men, tanks, and planes divided -- green on one side and gray on the other. I held a plastic airplane in each hand, the green one with a star and stripe sticker on each wing and the gray one with a black cross. They chased each other through the air above the plastic battlefield turning and diving.

"Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta, Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta! Vroooooom!"

The gray one dove, spiraling and crashed into the carpet, "Capooooosh!"

The green one climbed and turned, "Vrooooooom!" coming around in a wide arc and touching down on the plastic landing strip, coasting to a stop.

"You like that one?" my grandfather asked from behind me.

I turned to see him standing in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. I could hear the ice tinkling against the sides of the glass as he stood there smiling down at me. I smiled back and nodded, turning back to my new toys. He stepped into the room and sat down at the edge of the couch near where I was playing, set his glass on a side table, and bent forward toward the floor, picking up the two planes.

"You see this green one, those were ours," he said, and pointed to the little sticker. "Now this other one, with the cross here, those were the bad guys, the Germans."

I looked over all of the other plastic men and tanks I had divided on the plastic landscape and looked back up to my grandfather as he sat there leaning over me, smiling.

"Grampa, what was war like?" I asked, looking up at him.

"The war?" he replied, almost startled, his smile fading like the steam of our breath outside. "Well," he said, and looked away and then back to me, "You try not to make too many friends."

"How come, Gramp?" I said, confused. "Why wouldn't you want any friends?"

He paused and looked away to the plastic toys and then back to me. "Because you didn't know if they would make it back."

I squinted up at him, half confused, and he stood up and forced a smile, rubbing the top of my head as he passed me on his way over to the big picture window that overlooked the front yard. He stood there staring out into the snow, expressionless, up to the snow covered branches of the giant maple trees.

I turned away from him and moved the green plastic soldiers forward toward the gray ones. "Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta, Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!"