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Charles Dickens’ classic and wonderful book, A Christmas Carol, is probably the first appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Past. Although A Christmas Carol is mostly a dark and gloomy novel, with Ebenezer Scrooge humbugging Christmas and everyone who celebrates it, there are light, happy elements at the ending, but also, to a lesser degree, with the Ghost of Christmas past.

The Ghost of Christmas Past leads Scrooge through happy experiences of his childhood with his sister and at his boarding school. He connects Scrooge with his former, less-cynical self and his lost opportunities with happiness.

Christmas is magical for children. Santa Claus is the essence of happiness for both children and parents as they celebrate. I disagree with friends who refuse to mislead their children or grandchildren by admitting there is no Santa Claus. He is mystical and magical for everyone. Children believing in Santa Claus makes Christmas such a wonderful experience.

I am aware that some people and their children have a better Christmas than others. Christmas is hard on the poor to provide the material pleasures depicted on television and in the media. We didn’t have much when I was young, but our parents, especially Mom, worked very hard to make Christmas a special experience. We didn’t get many gifts and toys, but my memories are still wonderful.

Christmas for us actually started around Halloween with the arrival of the Sears Christmas catalog. Everyone my age and older remembers the significance of that catalog. We didn’t have the constant barrage of toys and products with television, the internet, Amazon and Christmas advertisements. We didn’t understand what was available to anyone until the catalog arrived. Every household received one. My brother, Bob, and I would fight over it and who would get to control the search through the toy pages. Some of my friends had a number of siblings, and their arguments over control of the catalog were legend. My friend, Mike Pittman, would lose out to his two older and bigger brothers, and he would come to our house to look at our catalog. Dreams of the pleasures of dozens of toys would dance in our head until Christmas morning when we would see what Santa left us.

My first Christmas memory was when I was five.  Santa brought me a fire truck. It was a long truck with a ladder that could raise up, lock and extend, with a crank to reach imaginary higher floors. Both the front and back wheels turned, just like a real fire truck of that day, and it could go around tight turns. It was made well – out of metal. Bob and I played with that fire truck for a decade. It carried many firemen to their jobs and it put out hundreds, if not thousands, of fires. I still remember how great it was.

We also had a number of very thin Christmases. When I was about twelve, Santa only brought me a basketball, a couple pairs of socks, underwear and three oranges. Bob got a tractor set from the Ford Tractor Dealership with some equipment and his socks, underwear and oranges. Some of our friends were better off, and Santa left them more, but we were happy to have what we had. I played with my basketball until it was worn so smooth it was almost impossible to get a grip on it.

However, the most memorable childhood gift was very unusual for a Mississippi kid – a tabletop hockey game that Santa left. No one in the south played hockey. We didn’t have much snow and had no ice rinks. However, occasionally, there was a hockey game on television, and I was drawn to it.

In the 1960s there were only six National Hockey League (NHL) teams. My game was about four to five feet long with players connected to long rods that were used to control the players in slots to chase a puck, pass to other players we controlled, or shoot at the opponent’s goal – guarded by a goalie, which was also on a rod. The game came with all six teams that could be changed out. My favorite team was the Chicago Blackhawks. They wore their road white uniforms that were trimmed with red and black with the fierce Indian Chief on their chests.

We played that hockey game for hundreds of hours. We held neighborhood tournaments for junior Stanley Cup Championships. Other toys were lost or broken, but we took great care of the hockey game. We kept up with all the players that were not on the ice. When we moved my mom out of her house just ten years ago, my hockey game, with all the extra players, was still in its place of honor in her hall closet waiting for us to play one more game.

The Ghosts of Christmas Past are better than the past Christmases were.  The memories make them special. Those memories of Christmases with our grandparents and special toys that brought us so much pleasure bring a happiness that is hard to find with maturity. I haven’t experienced the pure, sheer joy from opening the Sears Christmas catalog in decades. Memories are better than reality – and so is Santa Claus.

And to paraphrase Tiny Tim, “God bless us, everyone,” and I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.