Some of my earliest Christmas memories are of waking my late little brother up at ungodly hours to see if Santa had come yet when we were just little boys living in Strathcona or Camden East.

Of Christmas Eve visits to my Nanny Murphy’s or Nanny Finn’s to gather with my aunts and uncles and cousins, or anyone else who might show.

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Of staring into the sky in search of Rudolph’s red nose against the stars.

And, of course, of visiting Santa Claus at the mall to deliver him my wish list for the season.

After I had my own kids, my memories became of surprising them, singing Raffi’s Christmas album from start to finish, decorating our tree and going hunting for mindboggling Christmas lights displays, which we still do, and, you guessed it, visits to see Santa at the mall.

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