Making a List, Checking it Twice.

I never thought of myself as an accountant, but my talent for spreadsheets came when I was ten. Not only was my Christmas wish list a mile long, it was quite detailed as well.

I started by tearing out a page from my spiral note book. At the top I carefully printed “Scott’s Christmas List—1972.” I proceeded to make my list (in order of preference) of toys, clothes and art supplies. I also wanted 45rpm records like Michael Jackson’s “Ben” and Chuck Berry’s “My Ding-a-Ling”. Board games like “Clue” and “Masterpiece” also made the list. Mimi wanted them too, so our double-teaming ensured at least one of us would be a recipient.

I drew some columns to the right of the product name for size, color, price and store where it could be found. Each of these were color-coded with Flair pens. I even attached a newspaper ad for additional information if one was available. When it was complete, I handed it to mom as if I were turning in the week’s ledgers. My job was done. Or so I thought.

I’d lie awake at night thinking about Christmas morning and the bounty of gifts I was about to receive. I’d run through the list in my mind wondering if I had forgotten anything. I had. I wanted a Toss-Across game. I crept upstairs and found Mom’s purse. I fumbled through it past the Viceroys and the coin purse and found my chart. It was much larger than any of the other kids’ lists. They weren’t as demanding or picky. I took the pen out of her checkbook, scrawled the product information on Line 37 and went back to bed.

The next night, when everyone was asleep, I did the same thing. This time adding a Popeye gumball machine.

Christmas morning finally rolled around and my five siblings and I burst into the living room to find our biggest haul ever. The presents flowed from under the tree to practically the opposite wall of the room—bikes, a Verti-Bird, an Easy-Bake Oven. There was even a line-up of six homemade bean bag frogs seated on the couch. We were gobsmacked.

I’m really not sure if I got everything on my list that year—but who’s counting?