I was 13 years old when I expressed my wish for a guitar.
I was relentless. It was one of my trademark superpowers, to nag and remind and declare my desires over and over until I wore my parents down.
Well, it was approaching Christmas that year, and I was holding out high hopes of getting this much coveted item. I had dropped continual hints for months, saying how much this guitar would mean to me, how it would make me a fabulous folk singer (Peter, Paul and Mary and The Seekers where big at the time), how I would practice diligently, Mom would not be disappointed as she had been when I gave up on the piano because I couldn't (read: 'wouldn't') learn my scales, how the guitar would make me a better person, on and on it went.
As Christmas drew near, I suspected Mom had purchased the guitar so I went searching, as one does, totally unable to deal with the suspense, I had to know. I looked in all the usual hiding places where she stashed presents: the hall closet behind the towels and sheets, under the beds, on the top shelf of her wardrobe.
Nothing. Ah, the despair, the disappointment, the anguish!
Then it occurred to me that all the hidey-places were indeed too small for such an item, so I widened my search and reconnaisance, looking in places where she had never hidden stuff before: in the basement, under the house, in the cars.
Still nothing.
So Christmas morning I was dejected, all my efforts had failed to bring the coveted musical instrument into my life. I sifted through my gifts under the tree, trying to look upset, depressed, hoping to let everyone know how sad I was, having not received the one thing I wanted. Yardley's lemon 'Soap on a Rope' just didn't do it for me.
Then, whilst reveling in my festive misery, Mom came into the living room with a box that was the right size, the right shape.
It was the thing! The much-desired item, and it came with a book, Mel Bay's introduction to playing ... THE GUITAR!
Oh wow, I was overcome with tears as I opened the box and removed the gorgeous, shining guitar with its nylon strings and gleaming, smooth, wood. I can still remember the smell to this day - kind of wood-polishey, sweet resin, a bit dusty - the most delightful smell indeed.
I spent all day in my room with the Mel Bay book, teaching myself, learning a couple of little songs that I performed that evening in a short but highly polished and professional concert.
I played guitar for many years, and whilst I don't have that original Christmas guitar any more, I still have its successor which I play from time to time, trotting it out at parties (read: 'Ten Guitars') and the occasional band practice or jam.
Mom commemorated that guitar Christmas event with the photo you see above. My sister, unimpressed by the entire situation, said later that the photo was one of the best ever taken of me because you couldn't see my face.
Nice.