The holidays can be tough when you don’t have parents with you on this earth anymore.

It’s even worse in a year when we are “restricted” from gathering with family members to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.

Both Terri and I are “orphans” — having each our sets of parents residing in glory instead of here on this delightful planet we call earth. Christmases and New Years’ celebrations always make me reflect on things of the past and pine for those who have gone on before us.

Just the other day I was thinking about my childhood home on 53rd & Oliver Ave. North in Minneapolis. It’s hard to imagine my parents reared 10 children from that tiny two-story bungalow, but they did. The house was basically a rectangle when it was built, though in later years my dad added on to give us more room off the kitchen and bedrooms downstairs.

Christmas was always held at our childhood home while my parents were alive and memories ooze out of my pores as I sit and recollect about those grand old days. I remember the year we had two Christmas trees — one was purple and artificial and the other was green and natural. The purple one sat in our dining room, sort of as punishment to my dad for bringing home such a hideous coniferous.

The “real” one resided in the living room, right where my mother told dad to put it — along with all the Christmas presents.

My dad never made that mistake again.

I remember the droopy-eyed trips to church to celebrate midnight mass at Our Lady Of Victory. I remember the unveilings of home-made gifts we Morgans had a tradition of doing. I remember the music, the food, the lights, the anticipation and the excitement that rolled those two days into a blanket of comfort and joy.

I remember a lot about the past Christmases and I remember my parents and brother being a part of it all. I sure miss those days.

And sometimes I think it’s just not Christmas without our families gathering. I’m so good about complaining and wanting things “my way.”

Especially this time of year.

But then I remember the message Dr. Seuss gives us from the Christmas movie, How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” When all the little Whos down in Whoville had everything taken away from them, they still had the presence of mind to celebrate the birth of Christ. And they did it with joy.

Getting and giving presents didn’t matter. The lights, the trees, buttons and bows didn’t matter. The pantookas, panpoonas and fliffer bloofs didn’t matter.

What mattered was the day. Christmas day! And it was worthy of a song...

Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays;

Welcome Christmas! Come this way.

Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays;

Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day.

Welcome, welcome, fahoo ramus;

Welcome, welcome, dahoo damus;

Christmas Day is in our grasp;

So long as we have hands to clasp.

Christmas Day will always be, just as long as we have we.

That’s the kind of Christmas I want to put in my memory bank.