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Christmastime has a way of pulling us back through the years.
Every December carries both excitement for what is coming and tenderness for what has been. The lights, the music, and the familiar smells of pine and cinnamon work together to open the door to the past. Those small sensory moments take us back to bedroom floors filled with wrapping paper, kitchens full of relatives talking around the island, and childhood joy that felt too big to ever fade.
Christmas memories matter because they remind us that magic exists and that family stories stay with us.
As adults, Christmas feels different. Responsibilities replace some of the carefree wonder. Schedules fill quickly with obligations, shopping lists, and travel plans. Even so, memories still rise to the surface. Certain songs, favorite ornaments, or the first snowfall have a way of stopping time. Those moments connect us to who we once were and to the people who shaped our early years.
Erikka still recalls many Christmas mornings from when she was a young child.
One Christmas memory in particular remains vivid, replaying in my mind year after year. Santa delivered a surprise that became legendary, at least in my memory. My brothers were devoted Cleveland Browns fans. Their loyalty never wavered, regardless of wins or losses. They watched the Browns. They pretended they were Browns. Heck, when the Browns did not have a team, my brother, Chris, gave up chocolate, later to be revised to just brownies.
That devotion made the gift waiting under (well, near) the tree especially meaningful.
Early Christmas morning arrived before sunrise. The house was quiet, except for the soft glow of the whatever lights reflecting off the walls. We would tiptoe down the stairs, trying to whisper but failing completely. We were allowed to open our stockings, and Santa usually would leave one gift (like the Commodore 64) set up for us to play. We had strict orders not to wake our parents until 6 a.m. Anticipation would fill the air, thick and electric.
Childhood Christmas mornings carried a sense of magic that felt almost sacred.
This particular year, the rec room revealed a sight none of us expected, least of all me on a middle-of-the-night bathroom run. Draped carefully over a chair, a complete Cleveland Browns football uniform sat. The helmet resting on the shoulder pads, jersey, pants, and other pads were arranged perfectly. The white, orange, and brown colors glowed under the lights. I kicked the chair that wasn’t there when I went to bed or during any other late-night run, and I screamed.
An important ingredient for the Kerr family Christmas was, of course, the traditional tree in their living room.
I don’t even remember if they each got one. They must have. I know they were excited. Santa had given them belief, imagination, and a Christmas memory that would last a lifetime.
Time has a way of changing everything.
My brothers grew up and built lives of their own. One moved away to create a life and raise his family outside of Columbus. Careers, responsibilities, and distance replace the simplicity of childhood for all of us. Even so, Christmas memories remain untouched by time. Who hasn’t shared stories or saved beloved gifts, not just for the gift, but saved for value, not for the memories stitched into them? If shared properly, younger family members know the stories well, even though they were not there to witness them.
Christmas memories shape family identity. Stories told year after year become part of who we are. Traditions evolve, homes change, and loved ones come and go. The memories remain constant, reminding us of the love that once filled every corner of the house.
Decorating our tree these days feels like unpacking our history.
We have the handmade ornaments, faded photographs, and all our children’s age ornaments. We looked forward to getting out the handmade stockings and the stocking holder created for me by my friend and former co-worker, John Pifko. The stockings have each member of our family’s name in red. Mine was made a long time ago when I was a kid. Made with love by my Mimi and now my cousin, Cara, is continuing the tradition, so these wonderful socks that hang like mine did when they hung by my brothers’, carry meaning far beyond their appearance.
Cara, if you are reading this, I am going to need some more with the arrival of new family members.
Each item tells a story. Each story slows time and reconnects us to moments that mattered. Each item takes us back, if you let it.
Christmas holds its power because it invites reflection.
The season encourages gratitude, remembrance, and connection. Loud memories like my brothers racing through the house in Cleveland Browns uniforms hold just as much importance as the quiet moments spent around the table or by the fire.
As another Christmas arrives, take time to revisit the memories that shaped you. Share them freely and often. Those stories are gifts passed from one generation to the next. Christmas memories do more than recall the past.
They remind us who we are and guide the traditions we create for the future.

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