My mind has been revving round and round these past few weeks. Thoughts flash by from holidays past, and one memory simply begs for attention.
The year was 1979. It was my final Christmas as a teenager. That translates to fewer toys of any sort. At 19, you are on the threshold of adulthood, at least according to the date on the driver’s license. From then on, practicality prevails.

On that particular Christmas morning, I remember two things rather vividly. First, Dad deposited a box of barbell weights on my lap. But it was a featherweight gift, a simple slip of paper, which has left the far more lasting impression.
To this very day, I wonder what possessed my parents to choose such an unlikely present and, if they hadn’t, exactly where I would be today?







