Growing up, my Christmases overflowed with the insane hustle and bustle that the holidays are known for. Extended family in town, big home-cooked dinners, church services and a mountain of gifts beneath the tree. It was fun. My memories of those two weeks off in grade school are warm and kind.

My son’s Christmases have not been like that. They’ve been lovely in their own right, but calm and quiet rather than busy and loud. In some ways, they’ve been like any other day, except for no school and many gifts and the whole Santa bit. I’ve also never made food a central focus. We make cookies together and stuff like that, but we don’t gorge ourselves for a month straight.

Sometimes I feel bad about all this. Guilty. I remember how jovial it was having cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents all in one place for a few days. That’s what the holidays are all about, right? That Home Alone-esque scene—people, eating, chaos, laughter. And at times I feel like I’m failing him.

Then I’m reminded that my childhood was mine, and his will be his own. He will not compare the two the way I do. He’s his own person—an observant, independent kid who hates traveling, actually. And just like his mother, he finds being around unfamiliar people to be a very draining activity, regardless of if they’re family. He enjoys doing his own thing, whether that’s playing basketball with the neighborhood kids or drawing by himself. Even on Christmas, it seems.

I’m also reminded that the world is a different place now. It somehow feels less simple, more complicated, maybe because of the digital era. The world is also fucking expensive. Travel is expensive. Gifts are expensive. Not that things like that were cheap when I grew up, but it’s like: Do I want to spend nearly a grand to travel to see my parents over Christmas? Or spend some of that on gifts? Can’t do both. Must choose.

Of course I want my son to grow up with fond memories of the holidays, which are a major part of the magic of being a kid. My son’s recollection, someday, might not be as holly-jolly-in-your-face as my own. But my hope is that he will remember these times as peaceful, merry and bright.