My life to this point has been (knock on wood) great. It has had its ups and downs, like any life, but for the most part, I wouldn't change a thing. Maybe God likes me, maybe I have good karma from a virtuous, previous life, maybe I'm just lucky; whatever the reason, my life is, in a word, wonderful.

Granted, I'm not rich, powerful, or especially good looking. But I am happy, well-fed (obviously), and have a roof over my head. My kids are reasonably well adjusted and successful, my grandkids are doing well in school and The Lovely Mrs. Taylor is a far better wife than a yutz like me deserves.

Not a day goes by that I don't feel grateful for all life has given me. Which makes it all the more notable when I experience real, heartfelt disappointment.

In the past 50-some years of living, I have known only two great disappointments, not a bad record, in my opinion. But they were, indeed, great disappointments, and they came when I was least prepared to handle them; right around my twelfth Christmas.

They were (in reverse order): X-ray Specs, and - from page 495 of the 1967 Sears catalogue - the One-Man Field Patrol Helicopter.

The X-ray Specs need no explanation. Any boy who has ever read a Superman comic has at some point cut out the little coupon on the inside back cover and sent it, along with $1.15 plus postage and handling, to the X-ray Specs company, only to find out six-to-eight weeks later that they don't really let you see through the sweater of the girl who sits in front of you in homeroom.

X-ray Specs were invented, by the way, by the same guy who "invented" Sea-Monkeys, which now that I think of it, make three things in my life that have proved disappointing.

At any rate, the biggest disappointment, by far, was the One-Man Field Patrol Helicopter on page 495 of the 1967 Sears catalogue.

I wanted that thing so bad I couldn't sleep at night for thinking about it. A few years later, I would experience the same problem over Patty Tineman, but that was still some way off.

The One-Man Field Patrol Helicopter was a backpack-type unit sporting red and blue flashing lights, an acceleration lever and a 12-inch vertical rod sticking up from the top, upon which whirled a helicopter rotor. Drawing on the awesome power of two "D" batteries (not included) the lever controlled the rotor's speed and prevented the user from accidentally flying off into space.

The photo in the catalogue showed a kid about my age, decked out in an army helmet and kid-sized fatigues, obviously having the best day of his life as he soared above the clouds doing reconnaissance work for Uncle Sam.

The One-Man Field Patrol Helicopter sold for $8.99 - real money in those days, especially for Catholic families with lots of kids, like mine. Still, I campaigned for that toy harder than Nixon campaigned for the Presidency. I left notes for my folks, I cleaned my room without being asked, I didn't beat up my two younger brothers for weeks!

My old man tried to tell me the One-Man Field Patrol Helicopter wouldn't really get me airborne, but I was having none of that. Of course the people at Sears didn't want parents to know it really worked! If they did, no kid would ever get one, for cryin' out loud.

Come Christmas morning, there was no One-Man Field Patrol Helicopter under the tree. I never did get one.

But now I'm an adult, with my own money, such as it is. I don't know if they still make the One-Man Field Patrol Helicopter, but I'm going to find out. Sure, I weigh about three times what I did in 1967, but I know a little bit about electricity. I'm sure I can figure out a way to boost the power by wiring a couple extra "D" batteries into the thing.

So come Christmas morning, if you hear a buzzing overhead, don't freak out. It's just me doing reconnaissance work for Uncle Sam.

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or lessons in aerodynamics, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429.