1959 Was My Heyday

I retired gracefully, happily, knowing I could never be fully completely replaced even to this day. I was slick, photographic, revered by so many, loved by a few, heavy, a bit conceited but in a good way. Diligent children hid me in boots, closets, drawers, or moldy piles of black and white laundry where I rarely had to stay. I came out in the early 1900’s, evolved so well I didn’t recognize myself by 1959, my heyday. I was routinely hidden under bedclothes, mattresses or pillows; contraband, peeked at by flashlight. I belonged to the whole family, but whoever found me first hid me well; I was never shared outright. My captor would slide me out silently, hoping their siblings would not discover me and start a fight. I was the prize of the month, the trophy of the hour, the coveted, revered, brightest of the bright. Brothers and sisters fought each other to pull me out of their rural mailboxes to hide me under the couch. Coveted, cherished, loved, revered; fought over, fawned over, poured over; I was never ever like a slouch. I was thrilled that I was circled, starred, torn up, folded, figures were written all over me, and it caused a little ouch. A big part of Sears, and Christmas too, I brought dreams, hopes, and anticipated joys, causing more than one wage earner to grouch.