I laid awake in my bunk bed as I prayed to God to let the sun shine through my iced-over windows. I would then know that it would be time for me to run downstairs to the decorated tree sitting in the living room. I was alive with the energy that only a child could have on a Christmas morning. I must have been about seven years old at the time. It was the morning of December 25th, and the year was perhaps 1979 (or somewhere thereabouts).

Though it was still dark outside I could wait no longer. I rushed to my parents' room and started to jump on their bed that they were sleeping on. Who needs an alarm clock with a child in the house? My father awakened only after I had accidentally landed right on his stomach after doing a very impressive flip. He did not seem to appreciate it.

My little sister was still asleep in her room across the hall. It took only a few seconds for her to wake up, come running through the door into the hall, and then go zipping down the stairs. She bounded down them two by two and was gone. I was just a few steps behind her, however I caught up to her and was the first to throw myself under the tree.

By the time my parents had finally dragged themselves down the stairs, we were already swimming in the sea of presents. I could see that my parents would love nothing more than to go back to sleep, yet they sat on the couch and let us attack the colorfully wrapped boxes. We were fierce, shredding the wrapping paper into confetti. Every box held a new mystery within.

I opened the first box. In it were three pairs of underwear. Although the Fruit of the Loom guys were interesting enough, I quickly pitched them off to the side. What the heck did little fruit people have to do with underwear anyway. The next box contained a pair of light brown corduroy pants, the kind that make that God awful noise when you walk. They found themselves on top of the underwear in two seconds.

My sister giggled as she slapped a giant red ribbon on our dog Snoopy's head. The poor thing took so much abuse from us. The annoyed dog layed down and rolled on the floor; nevertheless the ribbon still stayed glued to its forehead.

One last present remained. Paper flew everywhere as we tore it open. After the air cleared of the flying debris, we had our first good look at the gift inside.

The word "PONG" was inscribed in black upon the front of a cheesy yellow box that could only be the product of the '70's. This was one of the very first video games that were made for home entertainment. It was made even before the golden age of the Atari and Intellivision. Inside was a long plastic box, about three feet long. There were two tiny rotating knobs on the top of it, one on the left side and one on the right. Wires came out of the back of it like a mass of confusing tentacles. Somehow this actually could connect to the back of the big television that sat on the floor. My father could not figure out how to hook the game up to the television so he started saying many words that he was not suppose to say in front of the children. My mother had shot him a nasty glance nevertheless he continued to curse like a sailor. Finally, my father had the game hooked up.

Now came the moment of triumph. We pulled the chairs close to the television's screen and turned it on. First, there was just fuzz; then, an image popped onto the screen. It was the miracle of technology.

There were two thick lines that showed up on the television screen in front of us, one on each side of the screen. They were moved by turning the knobs on top of the big yellow Pong game panel. A small ball, that looked more like a little box, bounced back and forth between the two lines. The object was to hit the ball back to the other side of the screen by bouncing it off of the line. The player's line on the other side of the screen was to hit it back to the opponent's side. It was like tennis, but played on a television set. Truly one of mankind's finest achievements.

We sat transfixed for more than three hours, endlessly playing this amazing game. It was so exciting. I turned the knobs back and forth as the ball bounced faster and faster. It was actually at that moment that I believe I realized the true meaning of the holiday. I did not care about the toys or candy I received. Surprisingly enough, the underwear was already forgotten. I was sitting there with my family. We were all laughing, shouting, and having a good time. We were all together and nothing else mattered in the world, except for the fact that we all had each other. The cold wind blew outside, but never found it's way into the house. It was a Christmas that I had believed to be long since forgotten. Nothing is ever forgotten.