Anyway, I know 'tis not the season to be talking Christmas, but I had to get this off my chest. Like now.
|Adam Rich from Eight is Enough|
It must have been Christmas of 1979. I was 7. We were celebrating Christmas Eve at Great Aunt Cee's house way up in Mountainside, New Jersey--a long, cold ride for a little kid from Long Island. She had a big, fancy, suburban home with an awesome basement bar and possibly even a disco ball. I would run around wild, downing ShopRite orange soda and stuffing my face with antipasto. It was great fun.
Aside from the glorious food, my second favorite perk of the holiday festivities were the gifts. The tree was surrounded by beautifully wrapped presents and a handful of them were for me. I counted the minutes to receive my two or three items. Seriously, I waited all night for them.
What did I unveil that Christmas, 1979? A damn Andy Gibb doll! There sat plastic Andy, staring at me from his shiny blue box, donning pink and white and his trademark winged 'do. What the what? I wasn't into Andy Gibb! I remember crying to my mom, "A BOY DOLL! WHAT THE HECK AM I GONNA DO WITH A BOY DOLL?!"
I loved Barbies, Baby Alive and Monchhichi. None of those items were under the tree with my name attached to it. Nope, I went home sulking in the backseat of our '77 Cutlass toting a horrible Andy Gibb doll. Too bad I didn't hold on to that crappy doll. It fetches a pretty penny on eBay today.