At the time of this memory, I was probably about six years old. It was Christmas eve and I had gone to bed thinking about Santa Claus. Some time in the night I woke up thirsty. I got up out of bed and headed for the kitchen for a glass of water. The kitchen door was closed, as it never was. Peeking underneath the door, the light in there was on. Aside form the Christmas tree the rest of the house was dark. I remember these things now, but being half asleep at the time I didn't think about these details. I just opened the door to get my glass of water.
Neon squirt-gun in a box, half covered in wrapping paper. My father looking up at me with an unusual panic in his eye. The door slamming shut in my face, forcefully.
I was no longer concerned with my thirst. I went back to bed and pretended to believe in Santa Claus for the next few years.
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