The holidays were different when I was younger. Lacking the Internet, one would eagerly anticipate the arrival of the Sears catalog to your front door just around August or September.
This particular catalog, known as the “Wish Book,” would hold in its many pages a treasure trove of toys your family could buy for the holidays.
The Wish Book, of course, was the basis of your letter to Santa. I thought I was sneaky. Every year, I would comb the pages of the Wish Book, crafting a list for Santa of all the toys I might want.
There was always some of the usual fare, like Hot Wheels cars and whatnot, but I would always try to sneak something in. One year, I tried requesting a Barbie playset among the Big Jim dolls, but this was denied.
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