my christmas story
It was December of 1981. I had just turned 9, and there were two big-ticket items I and my two brothers (Casey, 6, and Bennett, who we called “Ben” in those days, 11) desperately wanted for Christmas: an AT-AT imperial walker and an Atari 2600.
A couple days before Christmas, I accidentally got a glimpse of the Atari in its large, glorious box in the trunk of my Dad’s car. It was like the scene with the briefcase in Pulp Fiction — my brothers saw the golden light shining on my face. My Dad slammed the trunk shut and, shortly thereafter, took me aside and carefully explained that I was not to share what I saw with Casey or Ben.
Of course, there was no way that that was happening, because (a) I was way, way to excited to not share it with anyone, and (b) Ben was my big brother — he had ways of extracting information from me. The interrogation began less than an hour later.
Ben: What was it.
Me: I’m not supposed to say.
Ben: It’s an AT-AT, isn’t it.
Me: No.
At this point, I’m beginning to enjoy this — I know something that my big brother doesn’t, and that he painfully wants to. I’m going to try and milk this for as long as I can.
Ben: It is so I can tell.
Me: No I swear it’s not.
Ben: OK… what’s the first letter.
Me: A.
Ben: Fine what’s the next letter.
Me: T.
I SWEAR THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED. I couldn’t believe me luck, and I was chuckling feverishly on the inside.
Ben: IT IS AN AT-AT! What’s the next letter!
ME: A! But I swear it’s not!
The interrogation took at quick turn. I was starting to feel guilty, and big brothers can smell that. It only took him a few more minutes to extract the “R” from me and figure out what I’d seen.
In the end, it turned out our parents had gotten us BOTH the imperial walker AND the Atari 2600, and all was well with the world and it was pretty much the best kid Christmas ever.
