Varied Christmas: A Personal Gift History from Triumph to Tragedy

Christmas rules. But let's not forget the true meaning of Christmas. Yeah, yeah, yeah...Mary's boy-child, mangers, swaddling clothes, peace on Earth, Silent Night, Nights In White Satin, Knights Who Say Ni, yada, yada, yada. We get it. Make with the presents why dontcha? Kathy Mansell's Man-child is ready to rip open some damn gifts. NOTE: said present(s) better be wrapped and by you personally. And Jiminy Christmas take some pride in your wrapping:

1. Use good paper...you know the ones with the cutting grid on the back. Not the shit at Target with Santas and snowmen. Use that for your kids. Those selfish brats don't give a rats ass about wrapping. Screw it, just give them cash.
2. Crisp scissor cuts
3. Sharp creases and folds
4. Invisible tape...do you people actually have to be told this? Not too much, but not too little. We want a nice tight wrap. So Goldilocks that mofo...you got it, Chief???

And none of this Hallmark, gift-bag bullshit. If you give me a gift bag you're getting it back filled to the brim with some of Milkshake's homemade yule log.

And to make my gift-getting even more spectacular, go ahead and throw in a tree, lights, decorations, music, eggnog, Mistletoe, movies, shows, specials, animation, claymation, and any other kind of XMAS-related ation that exists. I eat that shit up...but only after December 1st. Let's have some boundaries here for X's sake.

Now that I have that out of the way, let's stroll down memory lane and I'll give you a few high and low-lights of Christmas gifts in my past.

THE GOOD

1974 - Not many gifts are duds when you are four, unless it was clothes or something practical. Luckily my parents knew who they were dealing with and stepped up to the plate when it came gift-time. I believe it was this year that I received my first incarnation of this:

Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle by Ideal. 

Holy Mother of God what can he jump next? I can still smell the gyro launcher...and for fucks sake do not touch the back wheel when it is still spinning. I still have the pinch marks on my hands.

To keep this blog within 5000 words I'll throw in similar gifts from in and around this time period that really knocked my jammies off. You can say that all of the following qualify for Ho-ho-honorable Mention:

Mego Superhero Dolls

Yes, we boys were so bad-ass back then we weren't afraid to call them dolls. It wasn't until Star Wars came along that Kenner decided they should be called "action figures". I especially loved Spiderman, Batman and Captain Marvel. These were hot stuff.

Losing their boots was a problem but Spidey wore a onesy so no worries for him. And damn it, I always lost Captain Marvel's lightning bolt sticker within the first hour and he was just ruined after that.

I remember my dad catching my next-door neighbor (and supposed best friend) Eric Johnson trying to sneak out of my house with Batman up his shirt...dick. I got him back, one day when I was probably 6 years old I called him a "pancake" and threatened to never play with him again.
 

The Six Million Dollar Man doll 

The red jumpsuit-clad Steve Austin even had a rubber-sleeved forearm that rolled up to reveal his bionics. I also had the Space Capsule and Bionic Repair Station, Oscar Goldman and Maskatron dolls.

GI Joe with Kung-Fu Grip. I loved his hair and beard...it was like the smallest, tightest afro in history.

 












1975 - My old man (much to my mother's dismay) playing off my idolization of Evel Knievel, jealousy of my older brother and evidently my desire to look like Easy Rider-era Peter Fonda, weaved a Christmas spell of ultimate, unparalleled joy with this combo:

I remember unwrapping the helmet under the tree and being excited but puzzled. Then dad giving me the old, "Maybe there's something that goes with that. Let's go look in the basement." I still get a bit choked up thinking about that frantic walk down the stairs and seeing that beautiful orange Honda 50 parked there with the front wheel cocked to the side. If I had known he was only going to be around one more Christmas I would have hugged my dad even harder. Nominee for My Greatest Christmas Gift Ever.

1976 - Thanks to John McMonagle the two gifts I will mention here are directly due to his influence. He was a couple of years older, our sisters were best friends but for some reason he didn't mind my hanging around. I got home from his house and probably immediately started lobbying my mother, elves, Santa...anyone and everyone who would listen for these two items:

KISS Alive!
What on earth could have possessed my mother, a devout Catholic, to allow "Santa" to give me this record? You know what? Who fucking cares...my life changed forever when needle hit vinyl. "You wanted the best and you got it! The hottest band in the land KISS!!!"

The KISS On Tour book that came inside the lp was enough to fry my six year old brain...I remember looking at the pictures of them and almost feeling like I was doing something wrong. Rock and roll. Another My Greatest Christmas Gift Ever nominee based on the sheer lasting impact it made on me.

Super Toe Super Jock Football
You smashed him on the head and he kicked field goals. The ball was made of the most pain-inducing hard plastic money could buy. If you got hit by an errant kick it was the one-way express to Tearsville. John also had the soccer one which I have yet to find to this day. Lucky SOB.

From my own personal collection!

Honorable Mention:
Mattel Electronics handheld sports games. Good grief I loved these things...still do. Football II I'd have to say is my all-time fave, followed by Soccer, the original Football and Basketball. I hated the baseball one and never owned it. Fuck baseball. They should call it Fat Meatheadball. I digress...

I never had the Hockey version even though I asked for it for about 5 straight years. Patrick Trillo was the only kid I ever knew to actually own one but I had vivid memories of playing it...once in the side playground at St. Leo's School. Holding its beautiful blue plastic with all its blink-y, button-y goodness in my hands. I was haunted by this until last year when my amazing daughter gave me one for Christmas that she found on eBay...mint condition and in the original packaging. I felt like I was 7 years old when I opened it. I believe a few tears were shed. Thanks Babs.

Let's fast-forward a bit here and I'll mention a few more honorable mention gifts:

1980 - My first electric guitar - a Kay that kinda looked like Angus Young's SG
1986 - My second guitar...an Ibanez strat-style guitar. This one I actually learned to play. Funny because now I absolutely hate Fender Stratocasters. Tone...schmone. If I could buy all the Stratocasters in the world and use them as kindling to burn Eric Clapton at the stake I would. I'm only sort of kidding, folks.

1999 - The last one I'll mention in the "Good" section came in 1999. Allison's mom and I had recently separated and it was hard time for all of us, especially when the holidays came around. Allison was 6 and was shuffling back and forth between my place and her mom's. I was by myself in an apartment for the first time in many years and the prospects of Christmas celebrations seemed a bit bleak. I wasn't really even considering getting a tree or decorating...which for me was huge. A couple of weeks before Christmas Allison and her mom showed up at my door with an early present...a little tree that they had decorated and trimmed just for me, because they didn't want me to be sad at Christmas. I still have it and can't express what this little tree means to me. I put it out every year, exactly as it was given to me. I have only had to change the lights once. And judging by how I feel even writing about it right now, we can go ahead and award this one the prize: My Greatest Christmas Gift Ever

THE BAD

1979 - Mr. Quarterback
Don't get me wrong, I LOVED this thing. Being a kid with only two older sisters and a mom in the household coupled with living in the goddam boondocks made the prospects for tossing a football around virtually non-existent. Until...da da da daaaaaa!!!!! Holy schmutz, here comes Mr. Quarterback riding a tight-spiraled Christmas dart flung from the golden arm of Baby Jesus channeling Roger Staubach.

Here's how it went down in my front yard on Christmas Day after tearing open the box and reading the instructions:

Step One: Placed football in Mr. Quarterback's "arm"
Step Two: Cocked the arm in launch position
Step Three: Set the timer
Step Four: Pretended I was Billy "White-Shoes" Johnson
Step Five: Sprinted 20 yards and caught the first and only pass this piece of shit would ever throw

No joke. I played with it one time and it never worked again. I even remember getting it back out on numerous occasions for months, maybe even years after the fact trying to "fix" it. Why it was never returned or exchanged who knows...maybe I was worried my mom would think I had broken it and get mad. Still haunted...

1986 - Johnny Reb Hat

This is the period where I believe my mom started to smoke crack. Did they have crack yet in '86? Anyway, yes the eighties were very bad for fashion. But even while the eighties were happening, when I was wearing parachute pants and bandannas around my neck, never once did I ever find my self looking in the mirror and saying to myself, "You know Reid, what you really need to complete this ensemble is a Confederate battle cap." Evidently my mom thought I needed one...complete with Rebel flag insignia on the brim.

My mom was born in Scotland, grew up in England so she was not making any political or racial statements here...she just thought it was "rad" or "bad" or "brad" or whatever we used to signify coolness in 1986. I remember her being genuinely disappointed that I would never wear it.

1990 - Alan Jackson-esque Full-Length Denim (Acid-Washed) Duster

Imagine me in this but in denim...acid-washed denim

Mom had graduated from crack to mainlining a Molotov cocktail of heroin, crack, methamphetamine, Robitussin DM, LSD, MMDA, PCP, THC, followed by an entire bottle of Blue Raspberry Mad Dog 20/20. This is my only explanation for my mother, who I had known for 20 years at that point, being so profoundly out of touch with both my personal tastes and all that is right and good in the world.

You think Ralphie was embarrassed having to try on that pink fucking bunny costume in A Christmas Story? I still can't believe I didn't projectile vomit into the box when I opened it. What had I done to this woman? Was I being punished? Had she found out that I had broken Mr. Quarterback? Was this some kind of a Randy Travis/Mainstream Country nightmare?




Jennifer, Allison's mom was present for this clinical, surgical, complete and instantaneous destruction of my self-esteem by my mother...and still laughs hysterically about it to this day. I quickly remind her though that on that same Christmas she received a set of Washington Redskins Zoobas that were only microscopically less humiliating and soul-crushing. Nominee for My Worst Christmas Gift Ever.

2000 - My soon to be second wife, and later to be second ex-wife made it her goal (either consciously or unconsciously) to ruin my Christmas every year from 2000 - 2007. But it was that first Christmas we spent together that told of the potential misery to come. I say potential because subsequent Christmases were filled with lots of caveats, instructions and me saying things like, "Sarah, if you ever get me shit like that for Christmas again I will be out the door before the wrapping paper hits the carpet." So no Christmas was quite as bad as the first, but she tried. Here's a few Jim Dandys from XMAS 2000.

Tupperware set
Sheets
I'm stopping there...I get irritated just listing the goddam things.

So the winner for My Worst Christmas Gift Ever is....mom's Alan Jackson-esque Full-Length Denim (Acid-Washed) Duster. 

Thanks for reading, folks. Here's wishing you and yours a Merry Christmas and may all your Mr. Quarterbacks be Peyton Manning. Now cock that arm into launch position and start running.