Ever since I laid my eyes on the fresh new boy band, One Direction, I was captivated. The need, the want to sing along to their catchy teenage fantasy songs, set my adventure to place my rather large and clammy man-hands on a pair of overpriced Ticketmaster tickets. “I want tickets” became the soundtrack to my summer, rather than “I want candy.” Instead of using my money for college or a flashy new pair of hipster shorts, I decided that spending an evening with over 20,000 screaming odorous girls would be a better choice.

It was the summer of ’13, (not ’69) that my path on the boy-band-brick road came into full swing. Need I remind you that the long awaited concert was over a year away. However, my determination to grasp those black and white tickets presided over any normal teenage activity. I constantly reminded my parents how sincere my request was to see my newly chosen, so called “Idols.” My dad always seemed to mock my choosing, by saying, “that ‘New Direction’ band will not even be a band in a year, you just wait.” I responded to this by peppering my bedroom walls with blown up images of their feminine faces. I continued to push and prod my parents for the tickets. Tickets, tickets, tickets; the most heated topic at dinner, or I should more accurately say, of all time. Further frustration came over me as my 500th phone call to KDWB was rejected to be appointed as a contest winner. With solemn tears welling in my heart, and eyes, I continued on my quest.

My next option, was to scavenge the money on my own in an attempt to buy the ticket myself. However, my so called “high paying job” got me a little more than a warm breakfast in return. I was so blinded by the thought of actually seeing my favorite band in person, right in front of me, clouded any idea of missing the concert. Then I fell into the horrible habit that embarasses any teenager: picking up pennies. Remember when your mom insisted on stopping for every copper coin laying in the street? Well, that seemed to be my new and improved characteristic, thanks mom. Everything was going great, until I cashed in a piggy bank that was bursting with coins, and it was a whopping five dollars. I needed to think of another idea, and fast.

With Christmas just around the corner, my expectations were running quite low. However, I continued to pry my parents with hints for the outstanding present I continually dreamed of; the tickets. Santa and I were pretty much best friends at this point, and I was confident that he knew exactly what I wanted.

There I was, Christmas morning at precisely 8:00, which was rather early for a teenager on any day. After reciting the “God’s neat, let’s eat” prayer, came the long awaited breakfast of french toast, constructed by my mom, which tasted as close to my grandma’s as she could muster. I watched my father drown the tasteless pieces of Italian bread with maple syrup, and a dash of powdered sugar. “It tastes perfect” he said through his grinning teeth. My dad, a master of disguise, yet one who revealed his whole being, always knew what to say when it came to my mom. They balanced each other, my mom, more of a spazz, and my dad, more relaxed. They were a match made in heaven. I secretly hoped that my love for Liam Payne from One Direction would become as realistic as my parents.

So there I sat, in the comfort my living room which we had decorated quite extensively for this special day. Being Catholic and all, we go full force in the “Holly Wagon.” Fresh eggnog and nutmeg, the smells of Christmas, filled our noses while we began the eighteenth annual traditional Larson Family Christmas. Starting with the stockings, each of the three children, including me, put our luck to the test in five different scratch offs. By being incredibly lucky, I marked up a record three dollar kickback on the redneck, “Fish for Money” scratch off. Then, it was away with the presents, while my older brother played Santa Claus by passing out all of the intricately wrapped gifts from under the tree. I know that my mom made my dad wrap each gift perfectly, so it must have taken all night. My brother gave me my first present, and I weighed it in mind. I didn't know what to expect, it was too large to be a ticket, but too slender to be a piece of coal, I was fortunate. Knowing my family, coal was a normality. However, it was not a ticket, rather a tube of lipgloss that would be more accurately stated as lip paste due to the sticky texture that always seems to get in your hair.

The order of opening was youngest to oldest, meaning that I would be ambushed by a plethora of wrapping paper near, or directly hitting my face. Thanking my brothers for that never got old. As our piles of gifts ceased one by one, I came upon my last present. I opened it without any expectation whatsoever, however, my mom seemed even more excited than any other instance. My fingers began to dig through the pink and purple tissue paper, and came across a lump. This lump, not coal, was a navy blue t-shirt with an English Jack in the middle. I didn’t hide my disappointment very well, by solemnly thanking my parents for the present. My mom, however, seemed to be distraught, and prodded my to open the shirt. I thought to myself, “this is silly, I already know what is,” but I continued on just to appease her. Taped inside of the shirt, which was pretty redneck as well, was a small slender box. Large enough, and slender enough to fit a ticket inside, my hands began to tremble. I slid open the box and I could not believe my eyes, and obviously my eyes could not believe me as I began to spit out tears. It was a One Direction ticket, the only present that I asked for. I knew that Santa would not leave me in the dust, and that my parents were literally the best in the world. All was happy after another successful family Christmas.