Christmas is for children. Through their eyes we can attempt to recapture some of the excitement we felt when we were young, but it will never be the same as it was when we experienced it the first time through. The amazement and wonder of the lights, the sounds, the splendor all surrounding the anticipation of receiving loads of brand-new toys - it was nearly too much to contain. At this point in my life I understand the act of giving to those you love is substantially more gratifying than receiving a pile of presents, but if you could find an honest child they'd tell you it's all about the "getting".

In my youth, Christmas began the night before with my sister Sam and I counting down the minutes to the arrival of my aunt and uncle around 4:00 pm. My mother would have already been preparing Christmas Eve dinner which consisted of Shake N' Bake chicken, tater tots, fried dough and a vegetable (but who remembers which vegetable?) while my aunt always brought a home-made custard pie. We would eat around 5:00 pm and finish up just in time to run down to the end of our street and catch a sighting of Santa as he went by on his sleigh which was well-secured to the back of a flatbed truck. Sometimes he threw candy (usually the hard strawberry candy with the chewy center) and the neighborhood kids would all wave frantically and wrestle each other out of the way in the hope of actually getting hit by some.

After Santa's drive-by candy-assault, our family went to a candlelight church service and while we weren't devout churchgoers, it wouldn't have been Christmas without it. The songs, the story and the Sunday school nativity play always left me feeling warm inside. The knowledge that when we got home we could open the gifts from my aunt and uncle helped that feeling along, I'm sure.

After exchanging gifts and enjoying a thorough playing with the toys (always toys) they had brought us, Sam and I would head off to bed while the adults enjoyed the rest of the evening without kids underfoot. I, however, could never fall asleep on Christmas Eve. I would lie there for hours, giddy with nervous anticipation, trying to kill the time by either reading or drawing. One thing I would never do, regardless of the time, is peek out of my room. I wanted so badly for Christmas morning to come, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise so I stayed put. Eventually, in the wee hours, I would doze off with my light on and a book on my chest.

Dad would be up before the rest of us to prepare a fire. Mom would wake us up then lead my sister (with eyes tightly closed) into my room where we would eat leftover fried dough and chicken from the night before. When Dad was ready, Mom would lead us out of my room like a conga line with her at the front, Sam next and I as the caboose. Our eyes were to stay closed and we followed Mom into the kitchen where we would open our stockings while sitting at the table. From the kitchen we could see into the darkened living room, now dimly lit by the fire at the far end. We could see that there were more things in the living room than there were the night before, but not in enough detail to see exactly what. The living room would have to wait, though, as we all took turns around the table (parents included) opening each of the 15 or so well-wrapped stocking stuffers we each received. And just to set the record straight, my sister and I did not own Christmas "Stockings" - we owned Christmas "Santa Pants": pant-shaped stockings, I suppose you'd call them. Mine looked like a miniature pair of Santa's pants and Sam's were similar but with lace. We were both a little bothered about not having stockings until my mother explained that the pants fit more in them.

With the "stockings" opened, it was time to hit the living room. Mom would turn on the lights and we could finally see the explosion of gifts littering the rather large room. Each year my parents would scatter the gifts all around the room, hiding some, placing others conspicuously and Sam and I would grab one present at a time and bring it to the person it was addressed to. We would continue this until all the gifts were distributed and we each had a pile of presents to open. My Mom's mountain of gifts was always the largest (Dad liked spoiling her at Christmas), but the tinge of jealousy was always overshadowed by the fact that I had about 20 shiny new boxes of my own to open and enjoy the contents thereof. Shallow, but hey, I was ten.

We would open our gifts one at a time and in a circle, just like the "stockings", watching and commenting on what each person just opened while planning what to open next. The entire "round-and-round" process took about three hours yet seemed to rocket by in three minutes. The next thing you know, it's over. All the waiting, the anticipation, the excitement - over in a heartbeat. Sure, I had great new stuff to play with, but it's moments like those that teach children truisms like "Sometimes anticipating something is better than actually getting it".

I cannot say that I enjoy Christmas now more than when I was a kid, but the holiday brings with it a special type of excitement and anticipation: reliving the thrill of the holiday through my own children - and my wife, Sandy. Both of my sons are in their teens now, but Sandy is still a kid at heart and tries to make the season special for the boys - and in doing so, herself.

In the spirit of tradition, I'm up and starting a fire on Christmas morning before anyone else is awake. The boys are herded into one bedroom where they can eat leftovers from the Christmas Eve dinner we have with Sandy's mother the night before. We don't do the conga out to the stockings (yes, real stockings, extra large) but we do take turns opening our gifts. Sandy's family tradition of handing out and opening one gift at a time has been incorporated as well as visiting more of her extended family on Christmas afternoon. Visiting in-laws on Christmas may not be my idea of joyous Christmas fun, but traditions are what you make them and making Sandy happy is a gift to myself. My boys have never complained about leaving their new toys to visit family and for all I know it may become a tradition in their house when they have children of their own.