Dec. 25 falling on a Sunday reminds me of one particularly magical Christmas past.
My age at that time is completely elusive to me now, but suffice it to say I still believed in Santa Claus — yet suspicion was bubbling. When my brother and I awoke that Christmas Sunday to no presents under the tree, my parents didn’t seem half as bothered as we did. They had contacted the North Pole ahead of time, they intoned, to let Santa and his helpers know that since we had plans to attend church in the morning and wouldn’t be opening gifts
