It was a red and black model with a white pick guard, and it came complete with a little amp, a carrying case, and an instruction book. I found one that seemed perfect in the J. I was concerned with one thing - getting that electric guitar. I never asked to see my parents' checkbook or examine their tax returns to better assess their financial capacity. But it never really occurred to me that we were that much different. I certainly was old enough and observant enough to know that we always drove a used car, didn't have air-conditioning like some families, never went on nice vacations like the Fraziers, and didn't get Eskimo Pies anytime we wanted like Amelia Leverett. Of course, I had no idea what my parents could actually afford to buy me. And anyone taking it away was probably as likely as someone going up to Chuck Norris and taking away his chest hair. If I don't, you can take it away from me." Of course, I knew that if I ever really got that guitar, I would practice it. "I promise I'll practice and learn how to play it. They said, "Son, don't you want to put something else on that list in case Santa can't come up with a guitar?" Not that I still believed in Santa or anything, but heck no, I didn't want to put something else on that list! Been there, done that, and still no guitar. In 1966, my Christmas list was very simple.
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