I was eight. I woke up to find a red plastic snow sled under the tree, shaped like a boat, with thick white handles on the sides. It was too big to wrap but it might have had a bow on it. I picked it up and placed it over my head and walked around our hovel of an apartment until I could go outside and hit the hill behind our building.
Doug, a kid who was in the same grade as me, ran over his little brother’s head while tobogganing down the hill. I mean he full on mashed the little guy’s head into the snow as he was barrelling down the hill. The brother popped up screaming bloody Mary and ran home to tell his parents. To that point in my life it was perhaps one of the most awesome events I had witnessed.
It was a magical, merry Christmas.