Somewhere it went wrong. There was the 6-year-old, trudging through heavy snow to attend midnight mass at St. Charles Catholic Church in Boardman, Ohio. There was his rapt attention to the nativity scene depicting the birth of Jesus Christ. It had been a big day for the kid who would spend his life in the newspaper business. Just a few hours ago, Santa had visited a Youngstown, Ohio, radio station and read on air a letter the youngster had written. Makes no difference Santa read 20 other letters as well. This was his first “published” writing. Maybe that’s when he got the bug. What a wonderful, simple, glowing, loving, spiritual age that represented. Years later, as a ninth-grader spending time at sister Jan’s home in Cleveland the kid will wear out a 78 rpm recording of “Silver Bells.” No one in that year of 1952 would have come unglued if the school choir sang, “It’s Christmas time in the city…” (ACLU Files Suit, Demands “Christmas Time” Be Changed to “Yule Time.”) So we fast forward to Nov. 24 this year. The kid is an old geezer now and he knows he can’t go back. He’s beat up life a little bit, life has beaten him up a little bit, and it’s pretty much a draw. The old guy knows he can’t recapture all the magic of those early Christmas seasons, but, nonetheless, the headline in The Arizona Republic startles him to the conclusion something has gone just terribly wrong: “Christian lawyers are ready to fight ‘war on Christmas.’” Christian lawyers. War. Christmas. Those words grate upon one another. He knows those memories of Christmas past are polished by time, but, still. Back in his beloved New Mexico four days later, he picks up the Albuquerque Journal where this lead paragraph stops him in his tracks: “PHILADELPHIA — Nothing says Christmas quite like a glittery black handgun hanging from the tree.” Really? Christmas war. Handgun ornaments. Count me out. Do we have to have war on Christmas? Not me. Here’s my contribution to Christmas peace. Tolerance. I am going to call that beautiful apparition in the nation’s capital a Christmas tree. You might want to call it something else. Call it a pine tree, if you like. A holiday tree, a plum tree, a lollipop. I don’t care. If a community wants to put up a huge nativity scene let it choose church property in the middle of town. Any church. Let Santa wave from the courthouse square. Do we want to worship or do we want to pick a fight with the ACLU? When I enter a big-box store, I don’t care if the clerk tells me “season’s greetings” instead of “merry Christmas.” I just don’t care. And I hope the clerk will not be offended if I reply “blessed Christmas,” as Father Al wants me to. That’s tolerance on my side. How about you guys on the other side? Do you think our freedoms are going to come crashing down if a kid sings “Oh, Holy Night” at the school pageant? Everyone needs to lighten up. Meanwhile, this consumer warning: Gift giving has always been big. Montgomery Ward’s first Christmas catalogue was published in 1872. This year, the price of the partridge, pear tree and the rest of the “12 Days of Christmas” gifts has hit an all-time high of $18,920. Ho. Ho. Ho. The old geezer welcomes reader input at: ncantwell@charter.net