Hi there, and Merry Christmas from Canadian Senior Moment.
Christmas morning. Even saying those words brings it all back—the early wake-up, the excitement, the family gathered together, the chaos and joy all mixed up in a few precious hours.
We’ve celebrated dozens of Christmas mornings in our lives. As children receiving. As parents giving. Now as grandparents watching another generation experience the magic. Today, let’s reflect on what made those mornings special—then and now.
The Wake-Up
Remember Christmas morning as a child? You’d wake up impossibly early—5 AM, maybe earlier—buzzing with excitement.
You’d creep to your siblings’ rooms, whispering urgently, “It’s Christmas! Wake up!” Comparing who woke first, who stayed up latest, whether anyone heard Santa.
Then the agonizing question: were you allowed downstairs yet? Some families had rules—no going down until parents were awake, or until a certain time, or until everyone was ready together.
The wait felt eternal. The anticipation almost better than the actual opening, that electric feeling that something wonderful waited just downstairs.
The First Glimpse
That moment at the top of the stairs, or turning the corner into the living room, seeing the tree lit up and presents underneath—magic.
More than you expected. Beautifully arranged (because parents stayed up half the night making it perfect). The room transformed overnight from familiar to extraordinary.
For those of us raised with modest means, Christmas morning was when abundance appeared—even if just for a moment, even if most gifts were practical, it felt like plenty.
Opening Presents Then
Christmas morning gift-opening had its own rhythm, its own rules.
One at a time in many families. Everyone watching as each person opened their gift, appreciating it, showing it around. It took hours sometimes, but that was the point—making it last.
Stockings first in some households—small treasures like oranges, nuts, candy, maybe a small toy or book.
The big gift last—saved for the finale. The bicycle, the doll, the special thing you’d wished for all year.
Practical mixed with play—new socks and underwear alongside toys. Nobody complained. New socks were a gift because they were needed.
Homemade gifts—hand-knit mittens from grandma, woodworking from grandpa, preserves from aunts. Gifts made with time and skill, not just purchased.
Paper was carefully removed and saved for next year. Bows and ribbons preserved. Nothing wasted.
The Cast of Characters
Think about who was there on Christmas mornings past:
Parents, younger and more energetic than we remember them. Grandparents who seemed ancient but were probably younger than we are now. Siblings who were children together, fighting over toys and taking turns.
Maybe relatives who travelled far to be there. Neighbors who stopped by. The house full of voices, laughter, sometimes arguments, always life.
Many of those people are gone now. The faces change with each passing decade. But the memories of those Christmas mornings together remain vivid.
As Parents: Creating the Magic
Then we became the parents. Christmas morning transformed from receiving to creating.
The late nights assembling toys with instructions that made no sense. The careful budgeting to make Christmas special despite tight finances. The hiding of gifts, the wrapping after bedtime, the strategic placement under the tree.
The exhaustion mixed with joy when your children’s faces lit up. The panic when they loved something you thought was a throwaway gift and ignored the expensive thing you’d stressed over.
Watching them grow—from toddlers who didn’t understand and just wanted to play with wrapping paper, to children who believed in magic, to teenagers who were too cool to show excitement (but still did).
Those were good years. Tired years, expensive years, chaotic years—but good.
Christmas Morning Now
For many of us, Christmas morning looks different now.
Maybe you’re alone. Your children live far away. Your spouse is gone. The house is quiet. Christmas morning has become a day like any other, and that’s hard.
Maybe you’re with adult children and grandchildren. You watch them create the magic now. Your role has shifted to observer, grandparent, the one who remembers how it used to be.
Maybe you’re in a care facility or with limited mobility. Christmas comes to you differently now, smaller and quieter.
Maybe you’re working (Bill here—I’ll be on security duty Christmas morning, like many other seniors who still work).
Whatever your circumstance, Christmas morning at seventy-something feels different than it did at seven or thirty-seven.
What Really Mattered
Looking back across all those Christmas mornings, what actually mattered?
Not the specific gifts—most are long forgotten or broken or donated decades ago.
What we remember is:
The feeling of family gathered together
The sound of laughter and excited voices
The warmth of being loved and safe
The tradition that connected us to past and future
The moments when someone’s face showed pure joy
The best gifts were often the simplest. The worst Christmases were when conflict overshadowed celebration. And the magical part was never really about the presents—it was about being together.
Bill: My seventy-fifth Christmas this year and I’m sorry to say the shine has gone out of Christmas for me in the past 20 or 30 years. It was special when the boys were young but for so many years it was just a very brief break in my trucking efforts with the stress that created. That being said, the best parts of Christmas for me has been the time when we got together with family members, shared special meals and caught up with everybody’s news. From visiting with aunts and uncles and cousins to time spent with our own children and grandchildren, it’s the fellowship I look forward to and remember most fondly.
Marilyn: Christmas Day through a child’s eyes was pure magic for me. The Christmas tree with its glowing lights, sparkly ornaments, the thrilling rustle of wrapping paper, the scent of the Christmas turkey cooking in the oven, and the overwhelming joy of Santa’s magic, discovering longed-for toys, all wrapped in beautiful paper. The sight of presents with my name on the name tag, each one was a mystery waiting to be unwrapped. My favourite Christmas day was when I was 4 years old, as I received from Santa Claus the doll I had always wanted. I was beyond delighted. She was called Sally One-Step, and yes she could walk one step at a time while I helped her along. That Christmas was oh so special and all these many years later, and I still have her.
For Those Struggling Today
If today is hard—if you’re grieving, lonely, sick, broke, or just not feeling the joy—that’s okay.
Not every Christmas morning is magical. Some are just mornings you get through. That’s real, and it’s valid.
The pressure to feel merry and joyful can make difficult Christmases even harder. You don’t owe anyone forced cheer.
But maybe, if you can, find one small thing to appreciate. A memory. A phone call. A warm drink. A kind thought. Christmas morning doesn’t have to be perfect to have value.
Our Shared Wisdom
What’s your most treasured Christmas morning memory? From childhood, from parenting years, or from recent times? What made Christmas mornings special in your family?
Bill and I would love to hear your stories. **Your turn:** Hit reply and share your thoughts! We read every response and often feature reader stories in future articles.
Tomorrow
Tomorrow, Boxing Day, we’ll explore the history of this uniquely Canadian (and Commonwealth) holiday, and how it’s changed from a day of giving to a day of shopping.
Merry Christmas to you all.
Warmly,
Bill and Marilyn,
Founders of Canadian Senior Moment
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**Bill Gould** spent 43 years as a long-haul truck driver before trading the steering wheel for a keyboard to help fellow Canadians navigate the road of retirement. A freelance writer, published author, and editor of over 50 books, Bill co-founded *Canadian Senior Moment* with his wife, Marilyn, to provide a trusted space for seniors to find clarity, safety, and connection in the digital age. When he isn’t troubleshooting “tech gremlins” or sharing childhood memories of the Prairies, he can be found in his woodshop or working on his latest novel.