Christmas died with Santa Clause when I reached a certain age. The magic revealed as scam, the wonder now an act maintained for the sake of form.
This descended, in my teens, into outright distaste - all the trappings a failed attempt to light a lost wonderland; a decorated tree incongruous and distasteful as a chimp in a suit.
Anger waned, disinterest set in, and I merely wished to avoid it all.
But through your eyes a miracle occurs: Papa Noel, mistaking his season, makes an Easter of Christmas by rising triumphant. A tinsel star becomes a true Polaris and love, for anybody's sake, is everything.