It’s said that Christmas comes but once a year, although some would disagree with that premise. I subscribe to the belief that we can have Christmas year-round; it’s all a matter of attitude. Oh, and gifts every month or so wouldn’t be too bad either.

Speaking of gifts, my Dad was absolutely terrible about wanting to know what he was getting. He would ask questions, trying to get a hint of what was inside all that wrapping paper. He also was not above picking up his wrapped gifts and shaking them, or squeezing them. In fact, one year we actually discovered that each of his packages had somehow gotten a peep-hole ripped in the bottom.

When my Mom, brother Steve and I asked him how those holes could possibly have gotten there, he was hard-put to answer. He finally said that maybe the cat had done it. You know how kitties are, always wanting to open packages to see if there’s anything in there for them. However, we did not have a cat, so that excuse didn’t fly.

Decorating the tree was a chore that always fell to my Mom, brother and me. And it was quite a chore, what with all the stuff we had for decorations. Besides, in those Early Days we had those awful strings of lights that would not light if one light was burned out. Many will recall what it was like trying to find that one dang bulb. And it also was a joy when several full strings went out because of a single light in one string. My favorite lights were the ones that bubble.

And it was all worth it. Mostly. I especially liked putting on the tinsel, although I often was chastised for throwing it at the branches instead of placing it with geometrical precision. Never did do well in math, you know.

Come Christmas morn, and Steve and I were up and panting at the tree no later than 5 a.m. No, we weren’t thirsty; we were anxious to open our gifts. It took Forever for Mom & Dad to arise, and we could not open any packages until they were present for the presents. Before they’d make their appearances in the living room, there were extremely time-consuming rituals, it seemed to Steve and me. For example, going to the bathroom. Making coffee. You know, all that stuff that adults find so necessary.

Then we had to have a box or large bag ready to handle the debris from opening our gifts. Our Dad was a neat-nik and could not abide clutter. Even on Christmas morning. Not all the paper, ribbon and bows went into the trash containers though. Like all parents with odd rituals (see going to the bathroom and making coffee, above) they liked to salvage what they could so we could wrap someone else’s present the next December. Also, Mom kept a list of who got what from whom so that we could write “Thank You” notes. Another tedious adult chore that we didn’t appreciate at the time.

We had a lot of nice Christmas mornings with plenty of gifts. Our parents treated us well. We knew that Santa Claus had something to do with the goodies, but we appreciated our parents nonetheless.

As for other Dec. 25-type memories, I recommend rereading O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi. It’s a classic Christmas story that captures the spirit behind the celebration. I won’t give away the plot in case you’ve never read the short story.

Additionally, and you probably will not be able to locate this one, another favorite Yule tale of mine is The Christmas Tree Express. It’s set during World War II and involves some U.S. military personnel and civilians in one passenger car that’s part of a long train speeding to the East Coast. The story focuses on a mother and her young son and daughter, on their way to say good-bye to Dad before he ships out on a troop transport. Only hang-up, the kids will have no Yule tree, no gifts, no Christmas. And the story goes from there as the service personnel join forces to bring Christmas to their passenger car for the little family.

Yeah, I’m a sucker for the celebration. In closing, let me drastically summarize that famous “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” editorial in the New York Sun newspaper in 1897. Virginia O’Hanlon, 8, challenged by her playmates about the existence of St. Nick, wrote a letter asking, “Is there a Santa Claus?” And Francis P. Church, an editor, responded.

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. No Santa Claus! Thank God that he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself. Merry Christmas.

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