If you think about it, Christmas has always been more than a date on the calendar—it’s the anticipation, a feeling that gathers itself long before the day arrives. It seeps into the streets, where lights shimmer in growing chains of colour, and into retail aisles where the same songs play on a loop. Even a December snowfall seems reminiscent of the season, drifting down with the quiet nostalgia of holidays past. 

At home, a tree glows in the corner while holiday movie marathons flicker across the screen. It can all feel excessive, like going for a sixth serving at a buffet—but somehow, Christmas still manages to warm the cold edges of winter. It is a feeling, a rhythm, a gathering that brings out the best in us.

Growing up Portuguese, the season meant something deeper. It meant placing family at the centre of everything. It meant piling into the car and making the rounds—visiting aunts, uncles, grandparents, and squeezing in time for friends and neighbours who felt like extended kin. It meant crowded kitchens humming with life, cousins roughhousing in the next room, and memories being forged in the small, ordinary moments. Those are the threads that get woven into the tablecloth that brings us together. 

A Portuguese Christmas is unmistakable; the day stretches wider, the table longer, the laughter louder. Those nights were often bookmarked with worship: midnight mass, a ritual as ancient as the culture itself, followed by celebrations that spilled into the early hours. Everything started and ended at the dining table. 

This was the heartbeat of our upbringing. Our immigrant parents worked themselves into new lives so these traditions could thrive, so the family could gather freely, so warmth could replace the longing that comes with distance from home. Their sacrifices became the glow that filled each December, showing us what the season truly meant. And if you’re lucky enough to have old home videos, you’ll see it captured in every family—pure, unfiltered joy. Portuguese people love Christmas.

Now, the torch rests in our hands; the next generation. My wife and I find ourselves in a new chapter—serving as the hub house, the holiday headquarters, the home where everyone converges. We welcome it wholeheartedly. My wife, a natural host and talented planner, transforms our space into something generous and inviting, a place where family feels both welcomed and wanted. 

Our Christmases are now filled with abundant food, good drinks, games, laughter, and those long, winding conversations that carry late into the night. It has become a tradition embraced by every branch of the family, including extended relatives and friends. Christmas at our house is an event and our dining table is the center piece. 

Threaded through it all are the Portuguese customs that shaped us—the recipes, the stories, a traditional presepio on display and the rituals like a hot bowl of soup after midnight, that insist on returning each year. Hosting Christmas has become our way of honouring that inheritance. It is how we keep the culture alive, just as our parents once did, stitch by stitch, meal by meal, gathering by gathering.

As we open our doors again this year, the family has grown, new faces will attend, however the foundation remains the same as it was. I’m reminded that the spirit of Christmas isn’t found in perfection, but in presence. In gathering. In love. It’s in the continuity of traditions worthy of passing on and leading up to the day is the most electrifying part of it all!

Wishing everyone a season filled with family, laughter and memories worth holding onto!