A Christmas story

Ah, I've returned home. And good old Gulfstream Road. It is here that I've spent every Christmas. How could I ever forget? Every Christmas here was memorable and generally mild considering it's Florida. But one Christmas was exceptionally cold. I mean, stockings-full-of-coal cold here on Gulfstream Road.  

'Twas the Christmas of 1997. My brother was home from his first semester at Morehouse. Radiohead's OK Computer came out that same year. And the classic first-person shooter GoldenEye 007 for Nintendo64 topped my wish list. 

I must've been right at that age where I was wise enough to know my parents were in fact my Santa, curious enough to find out where they might hide my presents and stupid enough to try the unthinkable. So one December evening while my parents slipped away to a holiday party, I combed through their bedroom for presents. Within 45 minutes I discovered my copy of GoldenEye007. I called my cousin Wilbur with much excitement—so much joy that I flirted with the idea of removing the shrink-wrap from GoldenEye007 and getting a little shooting practice in before the big day.

My parents wouldn't remember if they had removed the plastic, right? They would never suspect me. And so if I had to remove the shrink-wrap to play one game, I may as well remove it from the others for uniformity, right? (Added bonus: that meant I could test-drive the other games.)

I went for it. It was pure bliss. It was only for a few hours but it seemed like an entire day until my parents returned that evening. And not a single cause for alarm.

Days passed. Business as usual. 

That Christmas Eve I went to bed early knowing for certain what presents Santa was leaving behind. Or did I? 

I got up early. The house was quiet. I tiptoed around to not wake anybody up. Under the Christmas tree were presents, however none addressed to yours truly. I retired back to bed. When I awoke for the second time everyone was opening gifts and in a festive mood. I revisited the tree and still nothing. I moped around for a half-hour.  Eventually I gained the courage to ask my parents point-blank, "Where are my gifts?" 

As a reply all I got was: "Oh you know what you did."

The Christmas of 1997 I received zero gifts from my parents. ZERO. Later that evening at the larger Allen-Chaney-Dunn-Stallworth family celebration I was the source of hardly whispers and quite audible snickers.

Six months later my parents presented GoldenEye007 as a birthday gift. It turns out their mission was to teach an unforgettable lesson. And for decades now I've struggled with overcoming the skills deficit from the players who had a six-months or more head start.