Were I allowed to pick one* and only one moment to relive, over and over, for all the rest of time - the happiest, most perfect moment of my life - I have no doubt which I would chose. It came on Christmas Eve 1995, at my folks' place. My dad had another year-and-a-half to live, Mom had just more than eight, and a couple of months earlier, my daughter had turned 6, the consammate age for Christmas. Before 6, 1 suspect kids still aren't sure what's happening. (It must be like going to the circus for them, only their parents are the clowns). After 6, it's one illusion after another peeled away, year by year.
At that age, they're developed enough to memorize those great songs - the …
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