My favorite holiday memory is one from way back when I was about five. It was just me and my family, here at home and my brother and I had done out traditional waking of the parents at six o clock sharp. We then had to wait at the top of the staircase while my mom set up the video camera downstairs. My dad sat with us as we waited, asking us what we thought Santa had brought us. "A pony!" My brother was a little more reasonable, with "A spaceship!" being at the top of his list.
When my mom was finally done, my brother and I sprinted down the stairs, around the corner and hurtled towards the stockings, which were stuffed so fat they had been taken down from wall and laid on chairs. But we each had one gift that was too big to fit in the stocking. Mine was a pony. A giant, stuffed pony that has yet to be beaten as the best gift Santa's ever given me.
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