All of us -- even the jaded -- have favorite Christmas memories.

One that stands out for me is when I lived in West Virginia, had just moved into a new house with a new job and the first Christmas was coming.

The tree that year was live -- a rarity for me since I usually go with the artificial ones because of allergies, the mess, potential fire hazards, etc. -- and it literally took up one whole corner of the living room, the top grazing the ceiling.

Any Christmas tree that I can look up at is a Christmas tree in my book. And when you're tall like me, that means the tree has to tower seven feet or more.

That was the year I got to put together my first Barbie Dollhouse, you remember, the one with the little elevator. And, if I recall, Barbie also came with a sports car and several friends.

There also was the set of dishes -- tiny pink dishes with even more tiny forks and spoons and cups and saucers.

Another favorite Christmas memory, when my step-boys were young, was the complicated assembly of the Death Star -- the space ship big as a planet build by Darth Vader and company in "Star Wars," that had a powerful energy ray that blew the universe's civilizations to smithereens.

Tony, my youngest stepson, was totally enamored with "Star Wars," and would watch the movies to the point he could announce the dialogue for a scene -- word for word -- before that scene appeared. With his love of the movies, a Christmas present of the Death Star was a natural purchase.

However, no one told me that the Death Star had two million tiny plastic pieces and a set of instructions that rivaled the plans the engineers used to construct the Golden Gate Bridge.

It took me hours, yes hours, but when Tony woke up Christmas morning, the Death Star was assembled. He was thrilled.

There also was that year in Greenville, Texas, when I found myself alone with my table-sized, decorated Christmas tree. I really didn't feel like going out that evening, so after I switched off midnight Mass on the television, I sat in my apartment, lights off, and just soaked in the peace and comfort of that little tree. Yes, I can attest that silence is truly golden.

Or, when as a young man in my 20s, my girlfriend and I walked from the candlelight service at her church to her house. While the snow crunched under our feet and swirled around us, we cupped our hands around her still-lit candle. Our goal was to get it to her home still lit so we could light the main candle on her mantle.

Though the memory is a bit fuzzy, I do believe we accomplished our mission.

The best thing about Christmas memories is Monday you and I have yet another opportunity to create a few more.

Cherish each Christmas memory. They are like the single strands of tinsel on the tree -- each somewhat ordinary as a single strand but quite magnificent when taken as a whole.

Don't forget that while your Christmas memories are piling up, the greatest Christmas memory of all is the God sent his son to earth in the form of a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, a babe named Jesus.

Yes, Jesus is the reason for the season.

Merry Christmas.

Mason is the editor of The Marshall Democrat-News. Spectrum appears on Friday.