Growing up, Christmas Eve was a magical time. I’m not sure how much of that magic came from the anticipation of Santa and the morning to come and how much of it came from the fact that by 3 p.m. Christmas day, the ornaments were back in their crypt and the tree was at the curb like the dead shrub that it was. We had to soak up the magic quick before our mother got hold of it with her efficient little fingers. We knew this. We responded accordingly, all of us. We had to hurry up and rejoice already.

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