For 27 years, I worked at an attraction in Santa Claus, Indiana, where Christmas music played from May through October.

It was fun to watch unsuspecting visitors suddenly realize “Let It Snow!” was playing on the speakers in the middle of July, with outdoor temperatures approaching triple digits. Most smiled, a few rolled their eyes, several brave souls sang along.

My first experience Christmas caroling was when I was three years old. Mom, who loved Christmas, announced to my brothers and me that we would go caroling in our Milford, Connecticut, neighborhood the week before Christmas.

Somehow, I misunderstood.

Mom told us to each choose a favorite carol. Mine was “Jingle Bells.” Harry and Dave, being older and far more sophisticated, selected the more challenging “We Three Kings” and “Away in a Manger.”

To this day, I don’t know what the precise intent was for our house-to-house choral fest. Perhaps each child was meant to perform a carol solo. Or maybe all three of us were supposed to join in together for each number.

My understanding of the ensemble performance didn’t come to light until we were at the first neighbor’s house.

The only portion of a holiday song I knew at that time was the chorus of “Jingle Bells.” So I substituted volume for variety and belted it out. My brothers were trying to enchant with their rendition of “We Three Kings,” and I bellowed “OH WHAT FUN IT IS TO WIDE” on top of them. At the same time.

They were not pleased.

My brothers patiently explained to me how the gig was supposed to go down. Even so, when our second neighbor opened her door, I did it again.

I don’t remember caroling again until I was in high school. As president of the Carmel (Indiana) High School French Club, I talked the other élèves (that’s en Francais for students, not elves) into French caroling.

Il est né, le divin Enfant …

We were pretty good, if I do say so myself. Some of the homeowners tilted their heads as they figured out we weren’t singing in English, but eventually all were sur la même page.

One of the final households almost didn’t get serenaded. After we rang the front doorbell, the silent night was shattered by raucous barking.

More than slightly alarmed by what sounded like a monstrous beast, we chanteurs quickly considered making a run for it. Within seconds, though, the homeowner opened the front door and the howling hound joined us on the front porch.

It was the tiniest teacup poodle we’d ever seen.

With great relief, we were able to cantillate once more: Il est né, le divin Enfant …

In college, a bunch of us from the Singing Hoosiers got it into our heads to carol for Indiana University Chancellor Herman B Wells. His house was right on campus, so we knocked on his door. It was well after dark. And cold.

After a pause, the door was opened by the chancellor himself. He looked like a character right out of a Dickens novel – floor-length robe, nightcap (on his head, not the drink), and all. He smiled at us as we burst into “Sing A Christmas Carol,” from the musical Scrooge. It was a magical moment.

My sons weren’t all that into caroling. We went once when Tom was a Boy Scout. He told me I sang too loudly. (I’m sure I did. But at least I sang the same song as the rest of the troop.)

And now it’s time for the next generation to carol.

Grandson Cameron sings in a joyfully boisterous manner that makes everyone smile.

Last week, Gary and I were in Connecticut with Dad. Mom’s sister, Bunny, and my cousin Beth joined us for lunch one day. The restaurant played particularly wonderful Christmas tunes, including the soundtrack of A Charlie Brown Christmas.

Beth mentioned one of her favorite holiday carol was “Holly Jolly Christmas.”

I just happened to still have this video of Cameron on my phone from a year ago:

The TV special Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer first aired in 1964, and featured “Holly Jolly Christmas.” Although now we’ve awakened to what a jackass Santa was in this feature, back in the innocent, naive ’60s … it was perfection.

What made it even more special for me? I was convinced one of the elves was based on my dad. You see, General Electric sponsored the show, and my dad was a GE man.

Not the goofy dentist-wannabe elf. Not the grouchy head elf.

This guy. The tall elf wearing glasses.

See?

In the coming days, I hope you’ll feel the spirit of Christmas and will belt out a holiday tune or two, even if it’s only in the shower or while you’re driving your car.

Merry Christmas!

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