It's Christmas Eve. A lot of our readers are gearing up to pack the car, storm the stores, get those last million things that need doing gotten done, strangle the turkey, and be surrounded with all their loved ones, that great extended family of well-wishers, some of whom may owe them money. At a time like this, awash in fellow feeling and garish crinkly paper, your mind may wander back to the guy in the old Saturday Night Live sketch who entered a family reunion with a flame thrower. Just remember: sure, he felt pretty good about himself for a minute there, but he didn't get much mail in prison. So just hold it together, Coach, and as you gaze on the those cherubic, greedy little faces sprawled on the floor in front of you tearing into their swag, remember that someday, before you know it, it'll be their job to change your diaper. Until that blessed day comes, this one's for you.