As a kid, in the UK, every Christmas Eve was dinner out and a trip into Liverpool to the Pantomime. I remember vividly the drive, counting lit Christmas trees in Windows with my brother, Barry, dinner all dressed up, and the floodlit, red-carpeted splendour of the theatre steps. Maltesers, music, dancing. Peter Pan. Snow White. Always a grande "Dame" whom we could boo and hiss at in true theatrical fashion. I always left floating, staying awake on the drive home to search the skies for a glimpse of Santa and Rudolph's flashing nose.
I could never imagine anything topping that. But as I look at my kids around the table tonight, their Danish heritage of pickled herring, rice pudding, and schnapps at a late Christmas Eve Feast with family is just as rich and vibrant to them as my panto was to me. It's all about the traditions you keep and the memories you forge.
That's what Christmas is truly about.