It was the best.

I think I was nine and it was close to Christmas. Mom and Dad had a very unique way of keeping the suspense for the big day. In the days before Christmas there would never be anything under the tree. Probably my parents didn’t trust us not to peek at the corners of the packages, but anyway no presents until the big morning. I had already figured out there was no big fat man bringing things down the chimney; he always used the door. Well my bedroom that I shared with my two brothers and my sister had a vent that piped warmth from the fireplace in the front room. If held your head just right you could see right through to the living room and the festive green tree with my siblings home made decorations. I had faked my slumber and about mid night or so I watching through the grate and here came Dad pushing a brand new, bright red, fully loaded, and large tired HUFFY bicycle. It was my greatest hope and dream. I could not restrain myself. I ran out of the bedroom with screams of joy. But to my surprise at the door was MOM with a look that could kill. “BACK TO BED, LARRY”. But by then I had wakened my siblings and it was like a jail break.
Well I got my bike. I rode it everywhere. I rode it until the tires had to be replaced. I rode it until the seat became threadbare. It was the best.