On Christmas eve my parents would send the kids to bed a little early so they could partake of some egg nog and wrap and arrange the presents around the tree. So when I was 13, I'm laying upstairs in my room on Christmas Eve and what do I hear? Nope, not reindeer hooves on the roof. I hear my father riding the skateboard they got me for Christmas on the linoleum floor downstairs. That he didn't break anything, including himself, is a miracle!