My fondest memory is of getting up one christmas morning to cook lunch, and listening for the first time to some religious guy in Johannesburg delivering a sermon on the meaning of Christmas. And as I'm standing there, chopping stuff and listening, I look down to the street and see this homeless fellah wandering around.
My brain made the connection between the two things eventually, and I thought 'I should go be nice to that guy who is less fortunate than me.' Of course, being a paranoid freak, my second thought was 'Yeah, right, and get stabbed on Christmas' (I've been stabbed by homeless people before). But I grabbed some mince pies, and about twenty pounds, and headed down.
When I trotted over the poor man looked scared like a rabbit, rolling his eyes a little. But when I proferred the gifts he beamed suddenly and with a spring gave me a huge hug. After releasing me, we exchanged christmas blessings, and he went on his way, munching happily.
And that is quite certainly my favourite memory of Christmas.