For the first time in my 55 years, our family celebrated Christmas without my father.

Dad passed away in July, and, needless to say, this year’s festivities were more somber than usual.

My father loved this time of the year. When he and my mother lived on Highland Avenue near the Standpipe in Bangor, our house was decorated gaily with blue candles in each window, strings of Christmas lights, and a huge Santa Claus perched on the balcony above the front entrance.

The year my father purchased the gigantic plastic St. Nick, he stored it on the top of the attic stairs to keep my sister and me from finding it.

What my father didn’t know was that I often played up there in the rafters. One hot July day, I was casually making my way up to my favorite haunt when I was suddenly startled by a large figure standing at the top of those dark stairs.

I took off running, only to be reminded that we had a brand-new Christmas decoration for December. It was the most frightening experience of my young life.

Sports played a role in numerous Christmas celebrations with my father.

One Christmas Eve, I could hear “Santa” downstairs, fumbling with a wrench and mumbling a few choice words under his breath as he put together a new, red, Schwinn bicycle for his “number one son.” Oh, my, was it a beauty, a three-speed job with a basket in front and a carrying case attached in the back of the narrow seat.

Another year, I received a new basketball. Problem was, I didn’t have a hoop. I made do at a local playground. Little did I any of us know at the time, but that ball ignited in me a desire to excel and transformed a young boy into a dreamer of hoop-related ideas, some of which are still manifesting themselves today.

And, of course, there was always room under our tree for Red Sox-related stuff.

From caps to balls and bats, I was always thankful for anything that had to do with Yaz [Carl Yastrzemski] or other members of the Old Towne Team. And, of course, the Boston Celtics memorabilia could always find a special place, too. Banners, mini-balls, posters and tickets could brighten any Christmas morning.

I even received ice skates one year, two pairs to be exact. In one box were figure skates. In another were hockey skates. Now let me tell you, dear readers, that figure skates were much easier to handle. You had to be pretty clever physically to jump into a pair of hockey skates and go traversing down the ice.

Some of the best Christmas gifts I received in my younger years were sports games. Readers have to remember that these were the pre-video game days. Ping pong basketball was all the rage in the 1960s as was electric football and table hockey.

We had some serious matches in my house when the neighborhood kids came calling. Of course, we recreated Boston professional sports action, and our young imaginations ran wild with the merriment.

Ah, Christmas.

But this year, holiday tidings are a bit subdued without Dad’s booming voice and his raucous laugh, admonishing the kids to mind their P’s and Q’s and asking for another piece of pie.

Happy holidays to all. Sports continue to be a dominant theme in our house, but we miss our special “Santa,” smiling at the kids’ energy and remembering a time when he played all these games himself Christmas morning.

NEWS columnist Ron Brown, a retired high school basketball coach, can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net