For many years when we were of school age the rumor going around was that good girls and boys did not use the abbreviation for Christmas, C’mas, because it was an attempt by evil forces to remove Christ out of the story of his divinity.

Apparently, none of our teachers in religion or cosmology or apologetics had ever heard the rumor, and none of my classmates dared to ask them for their opinion. Eventually, however, the story behind the abbreviated name died a natural death and it has remained so.

What do children of the present generation think about Christmas? Do they play Kris Kringle like my children used to? Do they find Santa Claus a character too corny to believe and bother with? Have their Facebook and TikTok and other apps made them too smart to believe in Santa and fairy tales?

I have a brand-new story to tell about 10-year-old Miggy, who lost a tooth to the dentist a few days ago. When the dentist showed him the result of his tooth-pulling, Miggy told him, “I should have invoked my rights. I did not know you were going to take out one of my teeth!”

One of these days soon, I shall have to ask Miggy if he believes in Santa Claus.

Speaking of Christmas, what lovelier music does a home need at Christmastime than the chatter and laughter of children? When we were growing up, we seven children had to wait until the stroke of midnight on Dec. 24 before we could open the gifts under the Christmas tree. I was always excited about opening the gift from my godmother Lourdes, who as Mama’s best friend was the one who chose my name.

Christmas stirs up memories; if you scramble that word, you will find “more” and “me” – for what’s a memory if not more of yourself in the past tense?

Speaking of which, I had a memorable Christmas lunch recently with two colleagues, Joyce and Adele, and over the Japanese lunch (care of Joyce) we talked about the recent passing of a business editor. We knew him for many years but then again, we hardly knew him because he was such a nice guy but he was never the talkative kind.