All I Want For Christmas Is…
The childhood gift of my dreams that I never, ever needed.
In December 2005 I found myself lost in a pile of catalogues — carefully circling in permanent marker the items I wanted for Christmas.
As I flipped through the glossy pages of toys and gadgets, something troubled me, a deep longing that I couldn’t replace with items from a catalogue.
I wanted bagpipes.
Everytime I blinked, I saw bagpipes. When I pictured my wedding, I heard bagpipes. When I pictured my funeral, I heard bagpipes. When I pictured what was at the end of the rainbow, I saw bagpipes.
I felt incomplete without a set of red, plaid bagpipes to call my own. Naturally, I expressed my concerns to Santa (my mom).
Fast-forward a few weeks and for some reason my mom actually purchased bagpipes for me.
On Christmas morning, I unwrapped my bagpipes.
The rest is a blank slate because:
1.) I never learned how to play my bagpipes. Dreams die quickly at 10 years old.
2.) I passed out after my first attempt to inflate and produce any sound on my bagpipes. There’s a reason you picture fat, Scottish men playing the ‘pipes and not underweight fifth graders.
— Christine Ramstad for Royal Report