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The Power of Memory

Growing up, Christmas was such a huge deal. My parents would endure endless playing of Christmas albums (Sesame Street being our favourite) as well as the hyper-activity that went along with the music. Seriously, I’m surprised our house did not collapse from our bouncing off of the walls. Throughout December, excitement would continue to mount until it reached its peak, which lasted for the twelve hours between 8 P.M. on Christmas Eve and 8 A.M. on Christmas morning. A lot of the time, I would not be able to sleep – I was so excited.

There were times when I would find myself awake after midnight; I don’t even remember if I had slept or not. Since I was fully awake and could not get back to sleep, I would silently wander over to the Christmas tree and examine the presents that Santa brought for me. Sometimes I could guess what was in them; other times I could not. Inevitably I would find out in the morning when we woke our parents up and badgered them until we could open our gifts. They would usually acquiesce, allowing us to check out our stockings while dad made breakfast; after breakfast the main event would begin.
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