Modern day culture surrounding Christmas has undertaken many changes since the days of my youth, when almost everyone, except Ebenezer Scrooge, wished anyone they saw, a “Merry Christmas.”  Today, Happy Holidays” has become the politically correct norm, as it avoids any mention of Christ, which may offend people of a different religion — or no religion. 

Moreover,  the Christmas season seems to begin commercially earlier every year, about a boo away from Halloween, and ends the day after Christmas.  Most folks remove all tree decorations and the tree thrown on the trash heap.  Decades ago, the twelve days of Christmas, memorialized in the  “Partridge in a Pear Tree” song, ran between December 25 and January 6, the feast of the Three Kings — a festive time celebrated world-wide.  The Orthodox and Latin America cultures still exchange gifts on the latter date.  

In my youth, the arrival of Christmas Eve always brought exited anticipation.  Our living room was closed off by lock and key two weeks before “to keep it clean and uncluttered for Christmas.”  Peeking through the keyhole provided no intelligence.  After dinner on Christmas Eve, while we were at the kitchen window searching the skies for Santa’s sleigh, the locked door magically opened to emit multi-colored light from our Christmas tree into the kitchen. Beneath the tree sat wrapped gifts, designating which gifts were for whom.  No matter how old I become, the magic of the day remains. and repeats in my memory.

Each year during the twelve days of Christmas, I sit alone by the lighted, ornamented tree, and reflect on my Christmases past, including the people in my life and memorable gifts received, basking in mostly happy memories.  I recall my dear grandparents, who added wisdom and balance to our lives.  Two of them passed away a day or two before Christmas, so those Christmases brought sadness, but earlier Christmas memories brought them back to life in my memory.  Family and friends reunite in Christmas reverie. 

My first razor qualifies as one of my most memorable Christmas gifts.  Advertised as a safety razor, it was anything but safe.  A thirteen year old had to insert a thin double edge blade in place and twist the handle to close the top panels.  Before that day, I had to sneak my father’s razor to shave off the peach fuzz growing on my face.  No doubt, the many nicks and scratches mysteriously appearing on my face led to the coming of age gift.