Christmas, we all know, is about tradition. But every year, in just about every family, traditions clash.

"We've always done it this way" is a double-edged sword; "fake" is a fightin' word. One person's purism is another's Feliz Snobby-dad.

There's plenty of contentiousness to go around. So, this year, let The Trib do the quarreling for you on a dozen hot holiday issues.

Then get back to peace on Earth.

1. Luminarias — paper or plastic?

• Paper: Fake luminarias smack of self-importance, and I hate them. Christmas is a time for being good to your neighbors (you jerk!), so why line the sidewalk everyone shares with a series of ugly, plasto-orange light bags linked by an electric cord?

Get outside and breathe the cold. Scoop the sand. There's beauty in the tedium of unfolding each bag. Get that familiar-looking woman who gave birth to you to help. Spend the time reveling in actual conversation. Sometimes it gets tricky, lighting all those little candles one by one, but we're not so spoiled that even this has to be done McDonald's-drive-through style, are we?

Phil Parker

• Plastic: People who insist on old-fashioned, sand-and-a-candle luminarias are the same people who still use rotary telephones and say that Beethoven should only be played on a harpsichord. These are paper-bag purists.

But for those of us willing to listen to the Ramones on an iPod rather than an LP, "fake" luminarias are the way of the future. They're reusable, less likely to catch fire, and they require no sand shoveling.

No, they're not the same as the "real thing," but people probably said the same about horseless carriages.

Caleb Fort

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2. Morning vs. midnight Mass

• Morning: It's the last tether to the real Christmas spirit — a post-presents reminder that the holiday isn't just about the gifts or the shopping or the family tension or even the guilt-ridden throngs squeezing themselves into the nearest midnight service they can find.

No.

Midnight Mass is the ritual. Morning Mass is the feeling, the emotion, the deep breath that says: "Remember this for the rest of the year. And the next year, too."

It is fresh, crisp, authentic. After a month of plastic and fake Santas and more plastic, it says, if only for a moment: You are renewed.

Phill Casaus

• Midnight: Midnight Mass has its roots in the first Christmas. "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear," not at 8 or 10 in the morning.

I walk from my home in Corrales to midnight Mass at San Ysidro Church, about a 30-minute stroll scented occasionally by mesquite smoke.

I walk past luminarias lighted at sundown to guide the Christ child into our hearts. I walk through the San Ysidro Cemetery, where an old friend is buried among the graves of the village's founding families. When I shiver, it's more from emotion stoked by thoughts of community and tradition than from the cold, which is often fierce.

I walk with friends. And after Mass, we walk home and share breakfast at 2 a.m. I cook the grits.

For me, the true spirit of Christmas is friendship renewed or reborn. And, for me, that's clearest at midnight.

Ollie Reed Jr.

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3. When to unwrap

• Christmas Eve: I'm an instant gratification kind of gal, which makes opening gifts on Christmas Eve a must. Waiting until morning is for people with excited, small children and a less-than-fervent desire to sleep in.

I end the day in the best way possible — by giving and getting presents, knowing I made people happy and helped the economy, too.

That's the real meaning of Christmas.

Mary-Ann McBride

• Christmas morning: I don't understand families that open gifts on Christmas Eve.

How do they explain Santa's evening arrival? The reindeer wanted to catch the early bird special at Village Inn?

And how much time do the kids have with their new toys? An hour before bedtime? That's not long enough to run down the batteries or rev up Mom and Dad.

How much better to rise early, laze around in fuzzy slippers and spend hours with that new Xbox or best-selling novel or miniature guillotine from Uncle Ned.

Gifts in the morning mean a whole day of merry mischief.

B.K. Page

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4. Can underwear be a gift?

• No: It was impressed upon me at a young age that no one wants underwear for Christmas — unless you're ready to be the butt of jokes for years to come.

It was Christmas Eve, and my brothers and male cousins (all 8 and younger) ripped open their gifts. My grandfather had given each of the little boys a jock strap (probably bought at a discount store at a heck of a price).

The boys held them up — size extra large — with looks of puzzlement on their faces.

"What's this?" they all seemed to ask at the same time. My dad and uncles roared with laughter and incredulity. "Slingshots!" was all they could muster.

Kathy Korte

• Yes: It depends on the underwear.

Bill Slakey

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5. The tree: Is fake a faux pas?

• Go faux: Fake is fabulous. In my 30 years on this planet, a real Christmas tree has never graced my family's living room. We leave the trees where they belong — outside, not making a big mess on my mother's carpet.

A faux tree means never having to hear, "Vacuum up those pine needles, young lady."

Mary-Ann Mcbride

• Real: Even better than a real tree, you ought to spend the $15 and the effort to cut it yourself. Nothing says Christmas like smelling the fir trees, watching the kids wade through hip-deep snow, finding the perfect tree and then lopping off a foot or two when it won't fit into the living room.

Bill Slakey

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6. Can the cranberry be canned?

• Yes: As long as it's Ocean Spray and it's jellied, straight out of the can to preserve its shape.

My family likes it sliced. One time a cousin of mine scooped the cranberry out of the can and chopped it up in the serving dish. "Where is the cranberry?" my family asked.

That night, I opened another can, served it the way we like it, and it was gone in a flash. Dessert, they said, and wonderful as always. So what's in a can? It's how you slice it.

Susie Gran

• No: The one Christmas dish passed down pure to me from my grandmother is a cold salad made from chopped fresh cranberries, nuts, celery, oranges and — wait for it — lemon Jell-O.

I've endured plenty of abuse when I get invited to Christmas potlucks or dinners. Finally, I've learned never to say, "I'll bring the Jell-O salad!" Then again, I rarely make my way home with leftovers.

Bill Slakey

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7. "It's a Wonderful Life" vs. "The Grinch"

• "Life": "It's a Wonderful Life" has Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and a cute angel, but that doesn't mean all is bright. And just because the Grinch is a spidery villain, don't assume he's any scarier than Old Man Potter.

"It's a Wonderful Life" makes us go to a pretty dark place inside ourselves for nearly two hours before humanity comes to our rescue. Those tears it evokes at the end are quite a release. The Grinch? He's so two-dimensional.

The cynic in me wants to root for the Grinch over Frank Capra this time of year, but if we think like that, then the capitalists have won.

J.A. Montalbano

• "Grinch": It's all about that cute little dog with the antler strapped to his head, trying to pull the mean old Grinch's sleigh up a hill!

Maggie Shepard

• • •

8. Fruitcake — delight or doorstop?

• Delight: I like fruitcake, and I am not alone.

That fruitcake bakery in Corsicana, Texas, for example, lists dozens of famous clients, among them the Aga Khan, Joe Don Baker, Vanna White and the State Department. ("Condi, it's here!")

I wish I could afford mail-order fruitcakes chock-full of pecans. Or had an Aunt Remy down South who concocts brandy-soaked rounds. I have to make do with a short log at the grocery.

No matter.

The dense, sweet cake. The embedded nuts. The treasure hunt of sugared fruit. Even store-brought fruitcake is a dark joy, perfect for wintry nights.

And those strangely green cherries? Bring 'em on!

B.K. Page

• Doorstop: Fruitcake is a timeless gift. It won't decompose no matter what you do with it.

In modern times, the fruitcake no longer serves as a symbol for home-baked love. Instead, the message is: "Here, I don't really like you, but I feel obligated to give you something anyway."

Maggie Ybarra

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9. Gift card vs. real gift

• Gift card: It's no longer fun to shop for growing nieces and nephews who have reached those malcontented teenage years in which anything Auntie buys must surely be lame, dorky or totally uncool.

Hence, gift cards.

These plastic presents give those little darlings the almost credit-card-like power of personal choice, while forcing them to fork out cards with images of cute little dogs in Santa hats, thus still preserving a little of that dorkiness that says Christmas best of all.

Joline Gutierrez Krueger

• Real gift: Gift cards for the young are a great idea, but for family and close friends over age, say, 23, a gift selected — or made — with the recipient in mind generates warmer, deeper feelings than a little piece of plastic ever could.

Maggie Shepard

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10. Let's talk turkey . . . or not

• Turkey: When it comes to holiday meals, the bird is the word.

It's big, beautiful and golden brown. The aroma fills the house with pleasure for a good five hours before you eat it. And what's a holiday meal without stuffing?

Bill Slakey

• Not: Truth be told, I prefer turkey to ham, roast, tofurkey or any other holiday feast centerpiece.

I mean, I wait 11 months for that savory next-day sandwich.

But this year, I made my first bird — a horrifying, disgusting and slippery process that I hope to never repeat.

I'm no slouch in the kitchen, but a morning spent prepping my fowl proved to be nearly too much for me. A bag of heart and gizzards. A strangely placed 7-inch neck. Rubbing the inside of another being's ribcage. Ew.

And that's all before the "I Love Lucy"-worthy feat of shoving the 15-pound beast into a flimsy plastic sack.

Next year, I call desserts.

Tamara N. Shope

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11. Gift or regift?

• Gift: Sure, it can be argued that the Three Wise Men were probably the original regifters — they could have had that frankincense and myrrh lying around.

Nonetheless, those were thoughtful and meaningful gifts. And for most regifters, thought really isn't the motivator. Instead, it's about getting rid of that "As Seen On TV" electric quesadilla maker your well-meaning in-laws sent you. (Guilty.)

No, there is but one excuse for regifting, and it is reserved for the most disastrous plunder: the white elephant party.

Otherwise, you're just being a lazy cheapskate, turning your back on that most trusty adage: It's the thought that counts.

Tamara N. Shope

• Regift: Regifting is fine — if you're careful.

You're a cheapskate when you get a cheesy romance novel from your Aunt Becky, repackage it with the same holiday wrapping and give it to your boss.

You're a smart shopper when you buy that novel you've wanted, thumb through it before Christmas Day, wrap it, then give it to your boss. It's called "test driving." And there is no shame in it.

When you're done reading the books, place a heavy object on them to press down the pages. Try using that fruitcake your Aunt Bertha gave you or maybe that oversized camel from Grandma Doris' Nativity set. Leave them on there for a day.

It should read brand-new.

Christopher Sanchez

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12. We'll leave it to you

Is there a hotter battle in your family? Did someone here miss the point? Weigh in for yourself in the comments.