Euclid Avenue, Part III

As far as I can remember, we only celebrated Christmas once in the house on Euclid Avenue, but as Christmases go, it was a doozy. I was six years old and I got the greatest tricycle anybody could ever ask for. It was tall, it was bright green, and it was loaded. The handlebars sported a basket to carry my stuff in, a horn to keep stragglers out of my way, and cool streamers to, well, look cool. Also, all of the red reflectors had covers shaped like rockets. It was my Rocketmobile and I loved it.
Mother gifted each of us with our first pair of slipper socks that year, which she thought were the greatest things since footed pajamas, and which, to the horror of her four daughters, became a tradition in our household. I still flinch when I see a pair, but that first year, the slipper socks were a treat. I just wish I could look back at the pictures of the excitement and happiness on all of our faces on that really special Christmas morning and smile, but I can't. Um...they didn't bother to take any.
And speaking of pictures, I really wish they had taken a shot or two of that cute little white house while it still stood there at the end of  Euclid Avenue, because right after that fantastic Christmas, everything changed. The plans for the state of Virginia to extend and connect Euclid Avenue to the Gate City Highway meant that they were going to take our brand new little house  and they were going to tear it down. I was a broken-hearted kid. I didn't care so much about the damn house, but what I did care about was my teacher. I loved her and I didn't want to leave her. Oh, and my boyfriend. I didn't want to leave him, either. My protests fell upon deaf ears, and we were summarily shuffled off to a house on the Tennessee side of town, with just the memories (and hardly any fucking pictures) of our life on Euclid Avenue to sustain us.