It's Christmas Eve. The big day is just hours away, and so much of that Christmas-y feeling is a sense of anticipation, the feeling that something magical is about to happen, which in itself is a magical feeling. And tonight, more than any other night, that sense of magic and anticipation is at a peak. Everywhere you look, lights are twinkling,

through living room windows where Christmas trees are visible from the street to every

passer by, through store windows where last-minute shoppers cross those final items off their

lists, in candle-lit dining rooms where families eat and laugh and remember.

Because this is a night for remembering, for sharing old memories, for making new ones,

for practicing traditions and passing them on, for recounting the various pieces of folklore that,

when taken as a whole, tell the story of our families, the story of ourselves.

On Christmas Eve, all of our senses are engaged. The flavors of holiday foods, the sound of

Christmas carols and logs crackling in the fireplace, the smell of candles burning, and that

metallic tinge when there's a nip in the air,

the warmth of a cozy gathering and an ugly sweater,

and the sight of Christmas trees and mantle displays and 24-hour movie marathons.

And there's a slight bitter sweetness, a sense that we need to savor it all while we can,

that tomorrow will come and go all too soon. You know, all throughout this season of Christmas Past, I've been sharing your

Christmas memories, but only a few of my own. I realize that I owe you one, so let me do that

now, and I'll get a little help along the way. I'm Brian Earle. This is

Christmas Past. I grew up in a town called Stoughton, Massachusetts, just a half hour south of Boston.

I'm one of five children. My mom is one of six, my dad one of five, and with only one or

two exceptions, all of my aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents lived within a 15-minute

drive from one another. I didn't realize until I was much older just how unusual and lucky it was

that my entire family was together each and every Christmas Eve.

Around dinner time, we would all pile into the old Chevy Caprice Classic Station wagon,

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