The year I turned sixteen (back in the bronze age) my dad had a good year in his business, and as the year-end holidays approached he was feeling pretty generous. He asked what I wanted for Christmas. Without a moment's hesitation I replied "a handmade Italian sports car." He knew I was joking, but I was nonetheless hopeful that perhaps a Volkswagen Beetle or some other modest mode of transportation might be on offer, since only one month earlier I had passed my driving test and was awarded a license.
Christmas morning arrived and there was a really, really well-wrapped box under the tree with my name on it. The wrapping paper had an automotive theme. I remember feeling a rush of excitement, barely contained. I savored opening the box, wherein I got a bittersweet surprise: he had gifted me exactly what I had asked for, a twelve inch machined model of a Lamborghini, in detailed metal (like the Matchbox cars but bigger in scale), lovingly assembled by hand from a kit.
At that moment I deeply understood the importance of being careful in phrasing my desires. I still have that model car. I have yet to acquire the full size Lamborghini.
[Post Script - I never lost my taste for Italian roadsters, and two years later I received a consolation prize of sorts. After I graduated high school but before I went off to college I convinced my folks to let me buy a Fiat Spyder convertible. Italian manufacturer, check. Sports car, check. Even though it wasn't a Lamborghini, cruising sorority row at school was still a sweet experience.]
