Christmas remembrance

On this, what is probably my last Christmas, I'm remembering when I was a little boy who still believed in Santa Claus, lying in my bed on Christmas Eve listening for the sound of hoof beats on the roof, knowing that when I woke up in the

I'm in the middle. This was on Christmas Eve.

morning my brothers and I would go downstairs with our parents and find things we wanted and had asked for and other things we hadn't asked for but wanted anyway wrapped in bright paper under the tree in the living room of our house in Strafford, Pennsylvania. This was over fifty years ago now.
The lights on the tree would be on. Some of them blinked. Outside, it was still dark because we had arisen so early. The colors of the tree's lights reflected on the ceiling and transformed the room into a magical place, as magical as the idea of gifts appearing from nowhere while we slept. 
We'd rip open packages while our parents looked on, beaming. When we were done, my father, often, or my mother would go into the kitchen and start cooking us all a warm breakfast.