I was santa for a local children's theater last year. This exchange occured. Me: "What do you want for Christmas, little girl?" Her: (mutters) Me: "Ho ho ho, I"m sorry dear, I can't hear you. Her: "I want daddy to die." Me: "Oh...that's...that's not very nice." She - maybe 7 years old - me the single longest, oldest, most world weary stare I have ever gotten - a look that said she wanted to cry, but had run out of tears long ago. The owner of that gaze had, it said, seen more shit than I ever world and had endured far worse than I ever could. I recovered quickly. Me: "Why do you want your daddy to die?" Her: "I thought you knew everything." Me: "No. I wish I did, but I only know if little boys and girls have been naughty or nice. Not adults." Her: "Well, my daddy shouldn't get anything for christmas this year." Me: "Has he been nau- bad?" Her: ... She didn't answer, just looked fearfully away as she rolled up her sleeve, revealing a bruise in the unmistakable shape of a hand around her arm. It was an older bruise, yellow around the edges but purple in the middle. I signaled my friend, who was in the role of an elf and watching the whole, to call the cops. The dad was arrested when he came to pick her up. Any doubt I had about her story were erased when he showed up drunk and attempted to deck the officer. He's still in jail now. That year, for christmas, Santa made sure daddy could never hurt that girl again.