There is something about Christmas that brings out the sentimentality in editors everywhere. Try as we might to ignore the urge, it seems to compel those of us with a forum to reflect and wax philosophically.

Even my former editor--whom I called J. Jonah, after the hard-nosed Daily Bugle publisher of Spiderman fame--used to reprint the famous and most-published Christmas editorial of all time, "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" from the September 21, 1897 edition of the New York Sun.

I suspect the reason Francis Pharcellus Church's response to eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon's letter-to-the-editor is so widely and frequently republished is that we all aspire to be as eloquent, but so often find our attempts to be merely maudlin.

Similarly, Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" is perhaps the most frequently retold and adapted story of all time. The concept of a curmudgeonly old miser haunted by his inner demons to the point of redemption speaks to the human condition in a way that is both timely and timeless.

We don't really need these classics to promote reflection, though. As the "big day" approaches, I invariably think about one Christmas in particular. In 1999, I spent Christmas day alone.

I was living in Austin, Texas where golf is a year-round sport. On Christmas eve, greenskeepers at the municipal courses leave the flags out so anyone who wants to can play for free on Christmas day. I had tried to scare up some of my golfing buddies to join me, but they all had family obligations (go figger).

Nevertheless, and maybe it was just the golf-starved Canadian in me, I fully expected free golf would bring out the masses. It didn't. If you've never lined up a putt on an elevated green overlooking half a dozen completely deserted fairways, let me tell you, it's a little eerie in a post-apocalyptic, you're-the-only-one-left-behind-after-the-rapture kind of way.

Okay, it wasn't really that bad. I had turned down offers to spend the day with friends' families and my kids would arrive the following day to spend the rest of the holidays with me. And, generally speaking, I like being by myself. My wife says--only half facetiously--that I can be alone in a crowd of people and quite happy about it.

That day, however, I just felt very lonely. In my more Scrooge-like moments, I tried to convince myself it was just another day. One in 365. But it's not just another day. Christmas represents the better part of our nature. It encourages all of us to embrace community, kindness and generosity. It is an opportunity to count our blessings, whether we attribute them to the divine, blind chance or something in between.

Quite apart from all the things it is, and it is many things, Christmas is a powerful idea that speaks to the wonder in us all. If you need further proof of just how powerful, try spending one alone. I don't necessarily recommend it, but it did have a profound impact on my perspective.

You could also look at the life of Virginia O'Hanlon. In her 82 years, 47 of which she spent as a teacher and prinicipal in the New York City public school system, Virginia received thousands of letters asking her if she still believed. In her responses she always included a copy of Church's editorial. Later in life, she credited his words with shaping the direction of her life positively.

Here's to this Christmas, and all of your Christmases, being everything you want them to be.