When I was a young boy, I desperately wanted an air rifle. When I told my mom, she turned me down in no uncertain terms.
In an attempt to sway her through other authority figures, I wrote an essay about it for my teacher Miss Shields. She gave me a C+. Sadface.
When I asked for it from the Santa Claus at the local department store, that insensitive clod told me off for wanting something with such a capacity for violence. Then he kicked me down the escalators.
It was a Christmas bummer.
Luckily, on Christmas morning, my dad (a man of fine tastes) snuck it under the tree without tipping off my mom. Score! I immediately took it outside for some test shots, and uh... Had an unfortunate icicle accident.
The Red Ryder Range model BB gun was the greatest Christmas gift I had ever received, or would ever receive. But I still hold a grudge about my mother's callous disregard of my desires. "You'll shoot your eye out!" Whatever, you controlling harpy.
Anyway, that's my Christmas story.