SSSSSHHHCRRAAAAAAAHHHH! CHOOM! CHOOM! CHOOM! BAWOOM!!

My four-and-a-half year-old son careens into the living room with his older brother's Millennium Falcon. Its digitized sound effects are unmistakable, and he's "flying" the ship around the room as he's chased by invisible TIE fighters. The Christmas tree is the Death Star and my son yells, "Yeehah!" and runs back out of the living room down the hall.

My son's innocent reenactment reminds me that it wasn't all that long ago when Santa delivered an updated Falcon to our first born when he, himself, expressed a lot of interest in mine when he was eight years old, which in turn reminds me of a certain Christmas when the only thing on my wish list was...



"I want a Millennium Falcon!" I blurted to Santa in my nine year-old precocious voice, and then winked at my mother who had taken me and my younger sisters to see Santa. I could swear today that the writers of Robot Chicken stole their line from this Santa, because the next thing he said to me was, "What in the world is an aluminum falcon?"

I giggled and repeated, "MILL-ENN-I-UM Falcon... You know, from Star Wars?"

"Oh.. .OH!" he said, in mock understanding. Then, he handed me and my sisters each a little candy cane wrapped in cellophane, the lady with the Polaroid snapped our picture and the four of us stepped out of 'Santa's Hut' into the crisp, cold night air of downtown Belleville, Illinois. I grinned to myself all the way back to the car, oblivious to the sharp winds cutting through our coats and just happy to crunch through the shallow snow on the sidewalks while glancing at all of the gaudy displays through the darkened windows of the shops that had closed shortly after nightfall. The streetlight decorations shuddered snowdust in the wind as we drove past them on our way home, and all I could talk about the entire way back was finding a Millenium Falcon under the tree on Christmas morning. My mother had the patience of Job.

The next couple of weeks went painfully slow, and I'm sure everyone I came in contact with knew what I wanted for Christmas. Then, it was Christmas Eve, and I just know I counted each and every minute until morning.

Now, the rule in our house for Christmas morning when I was growing up was A) no peeking at the tree before Mom and Dad were awake, and B) no getting up any earlier than 8am. So, at 8:01 am sharp, I stepped out of my room, took a quick glance at the tree in the living room downstairs (there were TONS of presents!), turned the corner and shot upstairs to wake my parents. My sister, Beth, was already sitting on the edge of her bed when I got upstairs, and my other sister, Ellen, was standing up in her crib, smiling behind her pacifier. We could distinctly hear the rattling of Dad's snoring from the hallway outside my parents' closed, bedroom door, but that didn't stop us.

I helped Ellen out of her crib, and then we all quietly opened the door and tiptoed into their room. Aside from Dad's snoring, the room was as still as could be... "Wake up! It's Christmas! Santa was here!" we all yelled.

It was instant cacaphony with intermittent groans and sighs from our rousing parents. Grudgingly, even though they had not gotten a lot of sleep - especially since we hadn't gotten home from the late Christmas Eve service until 12:30am - they crawled out of bed and hobbled downstairs to get ready for us to open our gifts. Dad would get the 8mm movie camera ready and Mom would set out our presents in organized piles.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting upstairs, my dad called, "Okay, come on down!"

As the three of us filed down the stairs, we were instantly blinded by the four floodlights mounted on top of Dad's movie camera. Shading our eyes and hurrying into the living room, we quickly started tearing into our neatly piled presents. I kept a very watchful eye out for a large box SOMEWHERE underneath the tree that might fit that legendary ship. A couple of prospective boxes merely turned out to be clothes or a package sent from out-of-town relatives, but the pile quickly dwindled, and I was sitting there just wondering if I wasn't going to get my wish. My mother, understanding, saw the look on my face and shrugged, "Don't worry, there's always Grandma and Grandpa's house."

So, in our usual manner, we started cleaning up from the Christmas carnage, grabbing ribbons and torn wrapping paper from all over the living room floor and putting our gifts into neat little piles. Mom started folding clothes and Dad was grabbing empty boxes.

"Jeff, would you mind grabbing that pile of wrapping paper over there?" Dad requested.

Dragging my feet, I stepped over and started picking things up and just out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silhouette of something just beyond the edge of the couch. I really didn't think much of it, because that's where the magazine rack usually sat, but then, I saw that the magazine rack had been moved out.

All of a sudden, the room was blazing with light, and I was quickly scrambling and reaching next to the couch to pick up that amazing ship. I could barely see it with my dad's camera lights blinding me, but there it was in my hands, completely assembled with batteries installed! I pushed the gray sound-effect button and was delighted to hear the "rumble" of my Millennium Falcon's engine.

Suddenly, it was the perfect Christmas, and that toy went everywhere I did for quite a while.

I still have my ship sitting out on a bookshelf at home. It's a little dusty and the plastic has discolored just a bit, but it's still fantastic! Of all the Christmases in my childhood, that is the Christmas that remains solid in my memory and most special in my heart, because it truly was the Christmas of the Millennium.