Christmas in my family was usually very happy, very positive. They all went that way, very warm glow just thinking about them.
The process was this - you had to have breakfast before we could go into the tree. My folks channeled us down the back stairs, one stood vigil between us and the living room with the tree. We could not even see past them. Breakfast at the counter in the kitchen, then we lined up by age (youngest first), as my Dad got the 8mm camera and klieg lights (you think I'm kidding?) ready to film the procession into the living room. Dad would fire up the lights when we were all finished and dishes in the dishwasher (I think we were one of the first in the neighborhood to have one) and the 4 flood lamps (200W each I think) would light up that whole half of the house - and warm it up too.
Dad would film as we marched in, and the film kept rolling as we looked over what Santa brought and then opened each of the other presents.
When my brother returned from flying helicopters in Korea was a big year - he was supposed to have gone to Nam.
We always went to Christmas Eve services at the small Congregational Church I grew up in, and listened to the late Earl Marks, a professional operatic tenor, sing O Holy Night a capella. It was hard for us tough guys not to have tears in our eyes after he finished. I still can't listen to women singing that song, it has to be guys, and tenors at that.
This year, I got an early treat, completely unexpected - my granddaughter came to spend the night and we got to go to Chuck E. Cheese (yeah? ? ? ? ?

) - her favorite these days (she is 5 after all). I haven't seen her since her Mom and Grammie moved out in a huff last January. It was fantastic, and I'll leave it at that.
At CEC: