No, I'm not talking about any goody toe-shoes-ness... I'm not talking about people being all mercantile and greedy, when they should be out donating their time to charity, their blood to the needy, and their wisdom to the dumb... oh no. Not me. I'm not going to be hoist on my on pitard.

But I do notice that when I describe the way we celebrate Christmass in my house, other people get that look in their eye like they've been missing out, that they've been celebrating incorrectly.

Let me give you a little description of how we do it in my family, so that you can start bathing in the righteous glow of correctness from now on.

It starts a couple days before Christmass, when our little family gathers in the winter wonderland that is Santa Barbara. Not even the new jasona can consider this cold, and it's not like many of the plants change their apperance down here in the wintertime (heck, the only real difference is that you can find eggnog in the supermarket). But that's ok, it's not like I've ever experienced Christmass in any location other than the house in Santa Barbara, so it's all christmassy to me.

The night before Christmass, I usually stay up a little later than the folks (Ok, a lot later; but hell, I'm a programmer, it's not hard to stay up later than people who have a 10pm bedtime... give me a challenge, people). I either plunk myself down infront of the internet or the science fiction channel... and await for the house to become quiet as a mouse (ok, fine, had to work in the "quiet as a mouse" somewhere... no, I don't know why, I just had to).

Then, late at night, I creep up into my room and then back down to deposit my own set of presents around the tree (I would say you should remove that image of the Alien Queen laying her eggs in the base of the atmosphere plant, but heck, stick with that, it'll work). I usually take a little care to work half the presents I'm planting underneith the presents already there. I don't know why that's important... I know I get the feeling that I might be somehow "tricking" some child who's already memorized the layout of the presents under the tree... only the youngest member of the household would be my brother, at 31... and I don't think he's going to notice.

I then pop up the stairs, crack open a good book (or sit down and write my Cant article) and wait for my own bedtime to finally overtake me.

In the morning, well, you can guess who is the last to rise.

But it wasn't always this way.

It used to be, in the days when my younger brother and I were just whippersnappers, we would rise, like all children on Christmass, just as soon as our little hearts would rise us. We'd burst out of bed and run into the hall, and see our stockings were stuffed with sweet sticky candy loot. Ha. Easter was nothing compared to what we'd haul in on Christmass morning. We'd then take back our little treasure-trove stockings into our rooms, and consume ourselves into a little hyper-glycemic comas.

We'd then patiently wait.

Patiently...

For the parents to stir.

We'd poke our heads out of our rooms... every five minutes or so, looking, hoping, checking, praying, needing for the parents to wake up.

Fools we, for waking up at 4:30am.

I know, some of you are agast at this point. What?! You didn't just run to the presents and rip them to bits?

No, we did not.

That is not the way of it.

I know some of you even allow the kids to open their presents the night before Christmass.

Pah! I sneer at your lack of righteousness.

Some of you say that it's perfectly ok to open one present the night before. What harm could opening one present do?

Evil! Pure, malicious evil! You want to know what's wrong with this nation? I'll tell you! It's that there are lack-willed parents who flagrently let their kids open their presents the day before Christmass! You take a good hard look at the type of people who open their presents early, you tell me what you see. Yes. And you! Take a good hard look at yourself!

Oh no. In our family, we waited for the parents to wake.

And then we waited for the coffee to be made.

And then we set the table, and poured the orange juice, and cooked the veggie sausages, and bakes the sticky bisquits.

And then we sat down for a nice, hearty, Christmass breakfast.

While the presents sat there, gleaming in the morning light.

Untouched.

Calling to us.

And then we'd finish breakfast.

And then we'd clear the table.

And then we'd wash the dishes... every last one!

And then we'd all gather round the tree. We'd all pick comfortable seats.

And we'd turn to father, and gaze expectantly at him.

And he'd slowly turn to the tree, and grab just one present... and read the label, and slowly hand the present to it's intended recipient.

And that person would rip open the present, and we'd all delight in whatever it was.

And then that person would go over to the tree, and pick just one present (that wasn't to be given to themselves), and hand that present to the next person....

That... my friends... is how you celebrate Christmass. I suggest you change your ways. It'll make a better person out of you. Heck, it made a better person out of me -- just last year I gave my parents a dishwasher. Now if only I could find a gift that would cook sticky bisquits and veggie sausages, we'd then get to the presents even faster...