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I was 3 or 4 years old. It was a Christmas Day. My father was a high-ranking military officer. I haven't seen him for God knows how long. He planned a special Christmas for every soldier's child in his brigade. We came to the base, and Santa Claus arrived in a helicopter to give us all presents. I received two G.I. Joe-like action figures. I was thrilled, spending a day with my superheroes. My father ordered a tour in the helicopter. I was a bit scared, but I wanted to be a proud soldier! A couple of children went along with us. When the machine took off, I pissed my pants in fear. Nobody saw it, and I hid it well. The pilots took the bird up in the sky, over the sea and started doing some maneuvers. The noise, the elevation, I couldn't take it anymore. I started crying. The chopper was filled with little girls, and I was the only one crying. I felt like I disappointed my father greatly that day. He started yelling at the pilots to land the bird. That was the last Christmas I spent with my father.
