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I was born at the start of the '70s. So, when I reflect back on my childhood and how Christmas mornings were spent, they were, perhaps some of the most wonderful moments of my life.
Today's younger generation -- and by younger, I mean those who are in their 20s and teenagers, well, they just wouldn't understand what it is like to be content with the little things.
They would more-than-likely be aghast at just the thought of receiving from Santa his choice of gifts -- especially in their stocking. And that is simply heartbreaking. Because some of the best Christmases were not centered around the most expensive gifts or creating the trendiest, most popular social media video.
Many of you will remember the days when those stockings that were hung by the chimney with care, only included an orange, a candy cane and some pennies.
I was happy with that orange.
We didn't have the fireplace. Our stockings weren't hung anywhere but on the knob of our end tables on either side of the couch.
But it didn't matter, because we were still thankful to Santa for his taking the time to stop at our house and remember us.
There were moments when my brother and I weren't sure whether our behavior would warrant a visit from the holiday legend or not.
To this day, I clearly recall staring at the good list/bad list taped to the side of the refrigerator and thinking to myself, I really don't want a lump of coal. What would I even do with it?
Now, I honestly cannot think of anything I ever did that would have warranted a checkmark in that bad column. For the most part, I was a really good girl. Especially during the Christmas season.
But something must have brought my mother to the point of dismay … enough so that a check mark found its way onto that piece of paper.
I now had to find a way to do some kind of good deed so that she would see the error of her ways and erase it from the chart.
Fortunately, the check marks were drawn in pencil.
Despite the number of marks Santa saw listed in the bad column, he always opted to overlook my faults and loved me anyway. Thus, he dug his way through his sack of gifts and left what he could for the little girl who tried her best to behave throughout the month of December.
Yes, my little heart was happy by the presents left under the tree. Even the book of lifesavers which were carefully wrapped and placed among my pile of presents was good enough for me.
Had I insisted upon a laptop, the newest iPhone or whatever other technology just happens to be the coolest gadget at the moment, I probably wouldn't have gotten a thing. Life today is nothing as it was when I was young.
And that tree? How they have changed throughout the years.
My generation may remember the days when together, families traveled to a place which sold live trees, selecting their home's holiday centerpiece in an opinion poll.
Whether it came from a tree farm, a business's parking lot or going out into the forest and cutting down the pine yourself, the duty of selecting the year's Christmas tree is a moment that will never be forgotten.
Getting it home was a feat in itself, too. Thank goodness I was the child and not the one in charge of that task.
I also recall everyone having to make sure the tree was watered.
Hearing my mother's voice as she kept insisting our house would burn to the ground if it didn't receive its daily quota of liquid is another memory I carry with me each Christmas.
I'm actually quite surprised the water even found its way to the tree seeing as how the trunk took up the entire space of the stand and left absolutely no room in which to pour the water. It just spilled out onto the floor every time. Perhaps this is why we owned a fire extinguisher.
And those bulbs. Wow.
My generation had those colorful C7 bulbs that screwed into the socket, illuminating as if they were large, electric candles. Those suckers were extremely hot.
I burned my fingers multiple times touching them. And I only touched them to see if they were hot. I think this may be the reason for the check in the bad column. Stupidity.
I am actually surprised those lights didn't catch our tree on fire when they came into contact with those mounds of silver icicles which we always threw on top of them.
How our home didn't go up in flames, I'll never know.
One package of those aluminum-looking icicles made such a mess, you were still finding a stray one here and there well into the Fourth of July holiday.
But I loved our tree. I loved our gifts. And I loved our Christmases.
It was enough. And there will never be another precious moment spent like those again.
(Stenger is community editor of the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times)