Actually, only about 30% of the Holiday Seasons I recall have been traumatic or otherwise unredeemably awful: getting sick, getting dumped, being bored to death, hearing that "Merry Little Christmas" song a thousand times, my dad yelling at us, the year my sister gave me office supplies. 50% have had a few redeeming moments, and 20% have been rather pleasant.
My top 12 have all involved boyfriends.
I got a Tarzan Bopper, an inflatable full-sized punching bag that you could punch -- or pretend he was your boyfriend and hug.
We drove away from a house with nothing under the tree. Surely Dad didn't sneak out, drive six hours back to Rock Island, and put out the presents. How did they get there?