Probably because my grandparents had a farm that we'd always spend Christmas at. Such good memories staying overnight waiting to hear Santa or see Rudolphs nose.

Even the year my Grandpa told us to be quiet but we wouldn't. He decided to teach us a lesson. The next time we made noise he grabbed his shotgun (nearest neighbor was miles away), told us "the fat man is going to get it" and actually shot and threw a sack of potatoes to make it sound like Santa had died. We all cried and Grandma cussed him out. Ahh, good memories.