If it makes you feel any better, the best Christmas I ever had growing up wasn't a year when I received any video games or transforming robots or any manner of electrical doodads, thingamajigs or whirlygogs. It was the Christmas my parents gave me a set of wooden toy soldiers that they’d carved together over the course of the year.
They didn’t light up, they didn’t turn into nuclear-powered tanks, they didn’t have any realistic-fighting-action joints and they didn’t make any noises. But these wooden soldiers had something else that all those fancy, noisy, store-bought toys everyone else got that year didn’t: a little thing called love.
Heh, no, I’m just kidding. The best Christmas I ever had was the year my parents got me Blades Of Steel for the Nintendo even though it was sold out pretty much everywhere. It was awesome: you could fight people in it, you could play Gradius between periods and it talked. It talked! “Blades! Of Steel!” “Penalty shot!” “Makes the pass! Makes the pass!” Oh! How I loved that game! Yes, the year I got Blades of Steel for Christmas was the year I decided I loved my parents after all.