Conflicted Christmas

Christmas can go either way. A lot of the change is age related. Younger is better. As you get older, sometimes you find yourself looking around for the rest of the stuff. Casually you steal glances around the tree. Is this it? Five presents? Didn’t there used to be a lot more?

Sometimes you don’t care how many there are, as long as you get that one great thing that you had been hinting around for since July. In my case, at the age of 12, it was Electronic Football. We are talking the early ’50s here, so don’t expect too much. You plugged it in, the metal field vibrated, and all the little guys surged forward like tiny bumper cars, pushing and bumping at random until the designated ball carrier had been touched by an opposing player. Stop the motor and line ’em up again.

I was never able to realize the full potential of this game. We had an unfortunate incident Christmas morning. All dads should have to run that football agility training exercise with the tires to prepare them for kids’ toys on the floor. We sort of repaired it, but forever after, all the little players would converge on the dented spot like the scene of an accident, which it kind of was. So much for Electronic Football.

u      u      u

Then there was the Flexible Flyer, highly coveted, but terribly impractical, unless you lived in the north country, which we did not. Chances were pretty good that you would wind up staring at your sled, then at the bare street for weeks on end until you finally got some snow, and not just any snow because those skinny metal runners would slice right through the light stuff and scrape on the street.

Not having any hills did not help either. You held the sled in front of you and ran as fast as you could, then flopped down on the ground in what was called a belly whop (or belly flop, it’s a regional distinction), hopefully gliding far enough to make the effort worthwhile. Try doing stuff like this for an entire afternoon sometime and you will see why so few of us were overweight or had trouble sleeping at night.

As I got older, I learned a good trick. My brother was six years younger, so I would buy him stuff that I liked, but could pass off as a gift for him, then proceed to play with it myself. Dad was horrified at my immaturity. Of course, he wasn’t real thrilled about some of my adult interests, either. Hey! I was reading the articles!

Did I get a Red Ryder BB Gun? Do you see this eye patch?

Bill Abrams resides (and enjoys his Christmas toys) in Pine Plains.

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