The greatest Christmas gift is one that brings everlasting joy

When I was a little girl, I’d open a window in our New York apartment on Christmas morning, stick my head out and taste the snowflakes pouring down.

We moved to Miami when I was 7 and left the snowy days behind, but nothing could dilute the thrill of Christmas. The day still held the allure of delicious treats and mysterious packages beneath the tree.

True, I could no longer delight in snowflakes, but I indulged in melt-in-yourmouth cookies drenched in confectioner’s sugar, which reminded me of the frozen delicacies falling from heaven.

My father found it hilarious to pose for Christmas photos in Bermuda shorts, while standing near a palm tree in our yard. He then sent copies to the uncles up North, who were battling mountains of snow in their driveways.

My sister and I were excited because we had saved money from babysitting, and could now shop for gifts in the Woolworth’s five-anddime store.

The jewelry display radiated a mesmerizing light, as we stood pondering our purchase. What color diamonds would our mother like? Deep purple, bright red or perhaps the blue of the robe worn by the Blessed Mother on holy cards?

After we selected a necklace studded with azure stones, the saleslady placed the treasure in a box upon a nest of cotton, and collected the change from us.

My father rarely wore dress shirts in the Miami heat, but at Christmas, we still kept him well-supplied with ties. For good measure, we purchased a bottle of Old Spice aftershave, which was the go-to scent for men.

We did all our shopping in that simple store, which also had vials of fruity cologne and boxes of chocolate. While my sister obediently turned her back, I purchased bubble bath as her gift.

I loved seeing the presents beneath the tree Christmas morning, because they held promise and possibility. Anything could be hidden beneath the wrapping paper — toys, games and stuffed animals.

One year, I received the best gift ever, a stuffed Pluto dog with golden fur and velvety black ears. As time went on, my mother sewed his paws back on and embroidered him with new eyes. Today, he is bald and bedraggled, but still beloved.

Many people complain about the commercialization of Christmas, and it seems wise to avoid extremes, when it comes to gifts. Still, my sister and I connected the dots between our presents and the baby in the manger.

We knew God had sent his son as a precious gift to the world. We knew Jesus showered us with blessings and grace, and promised everlasting happiness.

Joy was the heart of our Christmas celebration, which no grinch could steal. We feasted on manicotti, cups of rich eggnog and fried-dough cookies drenched in honey, made from our Italian grandmother’s recipe.

We rejoiced as we sang “Silent Night,” even though I thought the lyrics were “round, young virgin, mother and child.”

Joy still radiates from the treasure trove of memories imprinted on my heart. At the center of the festivities were the words of Christ, “I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” Dear readers, may you have a happy and holy Christmas!