The pre-Christmas frenzy with children must be what it feels like to Steph Curry when he steps onto the court: so many points to score so little time. The kids would circle virtually everything in the holiday catalog to add to their Christmas list, “Uh, kids, do you really want this solid oak humidifier and four horsepower mower-weed whacker combo from Sears?”


In our house the hysteria started right after Halloween and lasted until December 26. Somehow Election Day, Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving did not garner the same respect. In a very real sense, it was a wondrous time. The anticipation, the suspense, the questions, the lists of sizes, styles and colors; they always managed to bring a smile and trigger musings about my own childhood.




One of my favorite parts was the forethought and complexity that demystified the Santa Claus mystique. “Daddy, you know how Sana Claws comes in ‘cause we don’t have any fireplace he lands the reindeer and stuff on the roof and Rudolph comes down and opens up the big window in the living room then Sana grabs the resents jumps on a rope and flys into the house. That’s how Daddy.” His younger brothers looked on with fascination wondering how long it would take before they could solve these perplexing riddles.


My wife, God bless her soul, tried to teach the boys about the true meaning of Christmas, the birth of Jesus, how he came to save us, the shepherds in the fields, the wise men…

First child: “Mommy, didn’t the wiser guys bring presents? I’ll bet they brought Jesus Monopoly Junior.”

Second child: “Yeah, or maybe a castle and some castle guys…”

First child: “Let’s look through the catalog again?”

Second child: “Yeah, thanks Mom.”


It was a valiant effort just the same, but spiritual enlightenment was a little out of the reach of a three and four-year-old.




Everything was unveiled at this age, as if for the very first time. And I suppose they did not remember too many things from their previous Christmas celebrations, so it was all new to them.


  • Picking out the tree: You would think this should be an incredibly happy, handholding, Walton’s Mountain kind of event. Yet in my family it could turn into an ordeal. “That is just not right,” my wife states inspecting tree #248, located in the third Christmas tree farm we have visited that morning. By this point the boys would begin to gnaw on the tree bark they were so hungry and then my wife found it. It was always an impressive Spruce, very full without a bare spot in any direction. Then I would pull out my trusty saw, and discover why no one had touched it. The circumference of the trunk looks like a redwood. “We can’t cut this one down,” I inform my wife, “I am sure it is a national landmark; it has got to be 200 years old.” I would saw for the next forty-eight minutes. It took a forklift and the entire tree farm staff to hoist it on our van. Sweaty and numb, I would drive home.
  • Tree in stand: The act of transporting the tree into the home is not fit for family fare. Some of the expletives the tree and I shared should be kept between man and nature. It would not have been so bad if the boys hadn’t been trying to swing on the branches while I was securing it in the stand.
  • Decorating said tree: The actual decorating goes much more smoothly. There was some concern about which child hung more ornaments than the other, but upon further review, if you took the seven broken ones into account, it was about even. It is always a trip down memory lane to pull out the old ornaments and decorations. Although with the children it usually was condensed to a run down memory alley. They don’t have time for the stories. They want to get back to the hanging part and see how far up the ladder they can get before we notice.
  • Outside decorations: Once again my wife is the superior parent when it comes to involving the boys and giving them tasks they could accomplish. In my defense, though, I was on the roof hanging lights while she was putting garland around our front yard. So, while they were inside drinking cocoa and speculating about Sana, I was trying to reach the corner of the house without moving the laddahhhhhhhhhhhhh. “I’m all right!”
  • Presents: The first rule is you can’t touch the presents under the tree. Let me say first off, if that rule had been enforced there would have been an empty tree come Christmas Day. Picking up, shaking, standing on, tugging, tossing was all part of the pre-Christmas process. Sometimes they even did that to their own presents.
  • Gifts from them: This was the best! “Dad can I have tape.” Off they went to wrap their crayon in about three feet of Christmas wrap utilizing one and a half rolls of tape and enough ribbon to wrap a two door Mercedes. There it sat under the tree for three weeks, the biggest present of the bunch and best of all, it was for Daddy.
  • Christmas (early) morning: It happened as early as 5:02am and as late as 5:17am. Of course, this made it very easy to attend the early services. They came barreling into the bedroom, blanket in one hand, Pooh Bear under the other. They dragged you out to the tree to see that yes, Santa had eaten their cookie and taken the carrot to Rudolph. The frenzy began as they dove into the presents like rugby players jumping into a scrum. They stopped only long enough to ask if there were anymore. The day was pretty much nonstop with brief interludes for worship and eating. At the end of the day, they would lay in their bed exhausted, sleeping with their favorite new board game under the pillow, and ask that simple question, “How long ’til next Christmas?”