By Rob Holbert Managing Editor

The pressure’s on.

This year really marks the first in which our children – particularly our son – will have some kind of Christmas expectations. He’ll turn 4 three days before Christmas, so I suppose there’s some reasonable chance Ulysses may actually remember whatever it is my wife and I do right or wrong this year.

That’s a lot of pressure.

Things definitely got a bit more serious last year, with all the Santa talk and semi-sort of explanations about St. Nick. But this year there’s more attention to detail. The other night he wanted a complete rundown on this whole naughty versus nice program. Naturally we informed him Santa would immediately scribble someone’s name on his “naughty” list if that child irritated his parents in any way, including calling his father a “bonky-head,” whatever that might be. Nothing like giving your son his first real complex.

Fielding such questions isn’t really the tough part of being in charge of a child’s first memorable Christmas. Let’s face it, they’re not that hard to answer. Ninety percent of the time the answer is, “Um, magic.” Reindeer flying? Magic. Knowing when you’re sleeping, etc.? Magic. It’s all magic. Well, other than the one about how the hell Santa gets down our chimneys when all four of them are boarded or bricked over. That one’s a head-scratcher, because really, if it involved magic, why use the chimney in the first place? When we were kids, my brother Matt and I had a convoluted theory about Santa turning into a lump of coal in order to come down the chimney, but it didn’t really hold much water.

The part of this holiday that gives me pause is trying to figure out how to make sure the kids have the “right” kind of Christmas memories. There are things they hopefully will remember fondly in years hence, and probably also a few that may pop to mind only because they are so ludicrous. For instance, I can never forget my brother and I getting our first bicycles at Christmas and discovering to our dismay that their tires were solid steel covered with a thin layer of rubber. In other words, there was no air in the tires, which made jumping them over ramps about as much fun as riding a jackhammer.

Ahhh, but I suppose THAT is now a fond holiday memory. I think about it lovingly every time that disk in my back slips out of place! Ho, ho, ho!

We’ve already made sure one of the great traditions from my childhood won’t be part of our kids’ memories, by getting a fake tree. I will gladly admit, the pipe-cleaner tree is much more convenient, doesn’t make anyone sneeze and ends up with far less dog pee on it (thanks Beauweevil!) than the real versions. None of the needles fall out and there’s no feeling that we just spent three hours decorating a fire hazard. But there’s still something missing.

I remember as a child going to a tree lot and searching around for the right tree, smelling all those evergreens and wishing it would somehow snow, even though it was in the 50s. Then there was the fun of listening to my dad curse as he had to cut the end off the tree to make it fit in the house and the joyfulness of my parents spending an hour bickering and readjusting the tree stand to get the thing straight.

My kids won’t have those memories. The faux tree is always straight, so there’s no holiday bickering, except over where to put it, which is hardly the same kind of bickering you get from trying to get the thing straight. And my kids will have no fond memory of everyone loading up in the Moonbuggy to go to Wally World so we can shuffle down the row of fake trees thumping the boxes until we got the one that sounds just right.

I suppose there’s a chance my kids will remember our tree this Christmas when I bring it out of the shed and take it out of the box covered with the dried blood left by the burglar who broke in earlier this year, severing an artery in the process. But that’s probably not a “good” holiday memory, now is it? At least I can tell Ulysses the burglar made Santa’s “naughty” list with some degree of certainty.

All I know is the proper atmosphere is everything. It’s not the presents, although getting something really cool – like, say a giant Lego set – certainly helps the atmosphere. But it’s the excitement that is most memorable. God, Christmas morning absolutely crackled as a little kid. I can still remember that so clearly. Waking up and finding out Santa had come and hadn’t left lumps of coal, as some people suggested he might. Watching my parents smiling as we ran around trying to take it all in. Those are the memories.

Mostly, it seems, it requires building the proper anticipation. That requires lots of holiday music, constant threats that Santa may pass over a certain house if someone doesn’t take a bath and perhaps jingling car keys outside the kids’ windows on Christmas Eve so they’ll think sleighbells are nearby. That kind of stuff, I think we can handle.

Actually, the thought of those little faces smiling as they root around under the blood-stained fake tree has me more excited about Christmas than I’ve been since I found out how Santa pulled off the various stunts that had me perplexed as a kid. I’m looking forward to the memories of it.

Rob Holbert is Lagniappe managing editor. Contact him at rholbert@lagniappemobile.com.

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