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11:31AM - Friday December 19, 2003 Being the child of a Jehovah's Witness mom, we didn't celebrate Christmas the entire time I was growing up. I think she was baptized when I was around four or five because I've seen pictures from Christmas '77 where we had a decorated tree in the livingroom. I think the year I was four was the last itme we had one, though. So, the only Christmas where I really remember anything, was the one where I was five. I remember one weekend my dad was home, and as he was tucking me in he asked me what I wanted for Christmas in a hushed conspiratorial tone. I desparately wanted a FIsher Price doctor's kit, and I told him that was what I wanted. On Christmas morning my brother and I tore downstairs at our regular early hour to find our presents sititng on the coffee table wrapped in newsprint cartoons. I tore into mine and was deelighted to see my FIsher Price doctor kit, which I used and abused for many years. I had a lot of fun over that holday. Our family friends the Brodersens came over at some point, and my friend Peter and I made up a huge drama where he was the kind (all dressed in a paper crown and red velvet cape) and I was the king's physician. The king was dying, and I listened to his heart, and looked in his ears and mouth and declared that his heart was black, and there was nothing I could do for him. *snerk* God we were morbid children. And that's the only Christmas I remember until my parents got divorced.
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