One of the earliest Christmas gifts that has stayed mulling around in the back part of my mind, is when I was around 5 or 6 years old. I can see myself dancing around the living room. A decorated tree in a corner that seemed to reach out and cover a good part of the wall. In my arms was a doll. Not a baby one that fit cradled in my skinny arms, but a friend. One who was as grown up as I was, just not as tall. Her long curling hair was topped with the latest of creativity. A thick tuft of hair that could be altered so that one minute there would be a short little bob on top and the next minute, with a wrestling twist of my hand there flowing amongst the rest of her tresses was a beautiful pony tail equalled only to my own. In my exuberant skipping and jumping her clump of hair dislodged somehow and mysteriously disappeared. Never to be found.

Oh the trauma, Oh the tears,
the never ending searching thru the years.
Until time found me using brush and comb,
untangling the hairs of two girls all my own.