This site is about you, but I think it’s only fair of me to share my own favorite Christmas memory before I ask you to to do the same…

My favorite Christmas memory is 1997.

The previous year, my wife and I moved to a new state. We were far away from friends and family, but there was also a sense that we were doing something exciting.

At Christmas, we came home and did the sort of whirlwind traveling that people do when they’re in from out of state. It was a busy trip and my wife was feeling especially tired. We started getting worried that perhaps she was coming down with the flu, but as it turned out she was pregnant!

I still remember the rush of excitement! We were so excited to share this news with our families!

As I write this, my wife and I are sitting in our living room. The son we found out about back in 1997 is sitting on the couch reading a book, and the son who came five years later is busy putting together lego models…

I think this year is beginning to show some promise too.

Now it’s your turn.

Share your favorite Christmas memory in the comments!

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
    "Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
    By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
    They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
    To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
    In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
    "Come; see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
    Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
    Hoping it might be so.

A Christmas Circular Letter

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I’d hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine,
I said, “There aren’t enough to be worth while.”
“I could soon tell how many they would cut,
You let me look them over.”
Click to continue »

From Flower-de-Luce 1867

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
    And wild and sweet
    The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
    Had rolled along
    The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
 Click to continue »

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
Click to continue »

In my opinion, this story is best enjoyed read aloud by the author. The language is rich, lush, and comical. Below is a passage from the beginning that I love for all those reasons and makes me want to listen to it again right now.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged, fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.

Of course, it just so happens that Salon has a downloadable version of A Child’s Christmas in Wales in MP3 format. Enjoy!