As a child, my family would visit relatives and friends on Christmas Eve. We would all pile into the family car — mom and dad, my sister, brother, and I. Once we all got in, my dad would always realize he had forgotten something – his keys, his billfold, or whatnot – and he’d have to go back in the house to retrieve that essential.

We never made it home before midnight, by which time, we kids were all asleep in the backseat. And when mom and dad roused us and we trudged through the snow into the house, Santa had arrived, thanks in no small part to our dad’s annual case of forgetfulness.

Maybe the best thing about Christmas is the fond memories it evokes, memories as warm as any Christmas fire.

Merry Christmas, all!