Christmas meant something different to me about twenty-five years ago. There was an anticipation of getting something good. A great life-changing gift. I probably didn't really think of it like that, but I did always think I'd be getting something good under the Christmas tree.

Interestingly, I think I stopped believing in Santa Claus as a real entity when my brothers and I got our greatest Santa Claus gifts.

For about a week before Christmas that year, we weren't allowed to go into our living room. It had been cocooned in fabric or plastic or something we couldn't really see through. This had never happened before. Our parents hadn't gone to elaborate lengths to hide something from us. We knew something was going on, but not what or how it related to us.

We drove from Lawrence to Manhattan (Kansas) for Christmas. Christmas was at Grandma and Grandpa Heyne's (mom's parents), which was not unusual. We spent more holidays there than at my dad's parents, who lived all the way away in New Mexico. A much longer drive. On the drive over, the back part of our station wagon was filled and covered with...something.

The gift tradition for the Heyne Grandparents was to open one gift before going to church on Christmas Eve, then open the rest when we got back. On Christmas morning, there was bounty from Santa Claus. My mom had made us all big red stockings years before, I think when each of us were born. Those stockings always got filled up with candy, fruit and other little stuff.

Whatever was in the back of our station wagon was not under the Christmas tree. When we got up Christmas morning, however, we found out what all the secrecy was about. Our mom had made us all big semi-stuffed animals which could be used to keep our feet warm at the end of our beds. The animals, at that time, were about the same size as we were. About four feet long. My older brother got a jaguar, I got a polar bear and my younger brother got a lion. These were, supposedly, from Santa Claus. But we knew better--for the first time. From then on, the myth of Santa Claus was just that: a myth. Our parents were the real Santa Claus. It was, however, the biggest thing we'd ever gotten for Christmas, before or since.

For the last couple of years at work, our Christmas party was a Friday afternoon lunch and social time at our boss's house. Each time it was catered by the same restaurant. And each time, it was just for members of the office--no spouses or kids or anything.

This year was different. The company bought tickets to "A Child's Christmas in Wales" at the Albuquerque Little Theatre. We were allowed to bring outside people along. Most of the people in the office took advantage of the tickets.

What most of us didn't know is our company had given a large chunk of money for this production. That was the real Christmas gift. It wasn't a party. And it wasn't for us.

As one of my co-workers said, our Christmas party was a tax write off. Very true. Only a couple of people said they actually liked the play (it wasn't good)--some didn't even stay for the whole thing. I spent some of the day afterward telling everyone it was nice the company gave money to a local theatre. I even wrote an e-mail to the owners (who are out of town--actually, the country--for the rest of the year) thanking them for supporting local theatre. At least some of the money they made stayed in town this year.

I've seen too many commercials and flyers and crazy car salesmen this year. I wonder what people expect from Christmas. When I was a kid, I did want the world. I poured through the Sears catalogue and saw all of these things I wanted. I'd mark them with my initials. I usually didn't get anything I marked.

Are there really people who are willing to spent thousands of dollars on a car or jewelry? Do some people really expect this?

And if you really love and cherish someone--which is a deep emotional connection to have--is it really appropriate to express that love with something as cold and uncaring as a diamond necklace or new car?

Maybe we should, instead, just take the time to hold and talk to the ones we hold dear. There's a reason we all have people to care for in this world, and we should let them know this without resorting to a gaudy proxy.

Matt Worley would like everyone who reads the columns to know he appreciates their brief weekly attention--even the ones who think he's off his rocker.