One can not think of Christmas's past and not remember the joy of the present hunt. Every year the approach of Saint Nick's coming meant the sure knowledge that somewhere in the house there are presents to be uncovered. For the years we were naughty, dark wrapped packages snuck out of steaming cars in the night, viewed illegally through the seemingly sleeping occupant's blinds, helped keep our faith alive. The trick to there discovery was to try to think the way your parents would. While I hear stories of other friends success, I always sucked at this part and only succeeded once in finding my Christmas presents. My joy was short lived when they were pulled out the next day to be wrapped and given to my cousins. I have secretly suspected my sin was discovered and this act of 'cousin charity' was my Christmas stocking full of coal. I still got really cool presents, most of which I had asked for, but it taught a good lesson to be used on my own kids. If one leaves a booby trap pile, the real treasure will be missed. Even if it is kept in an obvious place. 
The picture on the right shows the 'booby' pile to which our children's discovery was met with amazed pleasure. The picture to the left shows there youthful arrogance. For those who are wondering, the pile to the left is also a few feet deep. Merry Christmas to all, and to all hunters a good night!p.s. How many years will it take them to discover this entry. My future nursing home choice will become darker in there sub-conscience.
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