It’s the first day of December, and many of us are finally finishing off the last of the Thanksgiving leftovers and turning our thoughts, and wallets, toward Christmas.

On the radio, crooners Perry Como and Nat King Cole gush over snow-covered sidewalks and shoppers bundling up in coats, scarves and boots.

For way too long, northern states have crafted what Christmas is supposed to look like, totally ignoring the South that, frankly, has it pretty good during the winter months.

First there’s the weather. Here in the South, when it snows every 10 years or so, it’s a delightful treat, not a mountain to battle our way through every morning.

Santa might visit other parts of the world in a sleigh, but he’d probably find it a lot safer using water skis to land on a snow-free Southern roof.

And that woolen suit? Forget it. A southern Santa would be better off trading those scratchy duds in for cotton khakis and a “Gulf Shores” T-shirt.

Then there’s those time-honored traditions mentioned in song and verse. Most Southerners have no idea what it means to roast chestnuts on an open fire or sip flaming rum punch.

We do, however, understand the satisfaction of gathering pecans in our back yards and making a home-made pie from the bounty while sipping on a glass of Luzianne iced tea.

Jack Frost doesn’t nip at our noses. It’ll be a cold day in July when any Southerner with an ounce of gumption allows an elf to bite at his or her nose.

Here in the southern states, we’re more likely to run the air conditioner than the heater during the winter, and many of us have no idea what it means to have coal delivered to the cellar or how to make angels in the snow.

We don’t understand wearing three layers of clothing, a coat, scarf and snow boots just to go outside nor would we ever believe getting up an hour early to shovel snow off the sidewalks is acceptable.

We scratch our heads at people who think 20 degrees below zero is tolerable and think it’s odd for people to put chains on their tires – chains are meant to tote logs, not drive on.

But when it comes to the winter holidays, there are a lot of things Southerners intuitively get.

We understand boxing gloves, not snow mittens, Dickey overalls instead of snow bibs and splashing through bayous and marshes in a four-wheeler, not a horse-drawn carriage.

When we go out to cut down a Christmas tree, we ride on the back of a flat-bed tractor, not a sleigh, and we’re okay with that mode of transportation.

We appreciate the thrill of receiving roller skates or a bike on Christmas morning and then going outside and playing to our heart’s content – in shorts.

Southerners don’t dash through the snow nor do we stop for a visit with Frosty the snowman.

Instead, there’s plenty of fresh mud on the flaps of our Ford F-150 trucks and we’ve got Mike the Tiger, the Georgia bulldogs and Bevo instead of a fickle snowman that’ll melt at the first warm snap.

Just like our Northern brothers and sisters, we understand the true meaning of the holidays – family, fellowship and faith. In these parts, we simply celebrate the holidays Southern style.

And, honey, that’s just fine with me.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.