Well... not actually.
I would hope we all have fond memories of holidays past.
One of my favorites is really quite simple. My dad would bring home a bag of chestnuts.
He would cut off the the tips or make an "x" cut on the side and boil them for 20 minutes.
And then he would spread out layers of newspapers, drain the chestnuts and dump them onto the papers.
With knife in hand and a salt shaker close by, we would peel the chestnuts, talk, and eat chestnuts together.
It wasn't until much later in life that I ate roasted chestnuts in New York and Paris,
but to this day, a pot of boiling chestnuts bring back fond memories of my dad.
He died when I was 13 years old. When you are 13 years old, you think your parents will never die.