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I wouldn’t say I hate the holiday season, but I would 100% say I am absolutely not a fan. Especially of the music that you can’t escape no matter where you go (even in your own house), or the peppermint everything everywhere, or the dumb movies that are all exactly the same taking over every channel that isn’t football.
I’ve never been one to celebrate the season either. My family would always do the whole decorating/dinner/gifts thing, and I’d participate, of course, because I lived under my parents’ roof and I didn’t have a choice, but it was always reluctant.
It wasn’t my dream to be a teacher, it kind of just happened, because I was more suited to it than anyone else around me. It pays well enough, and it’s fun, and I have way more control over the lives of a group of high schoolers than I probably should. Dorms weren’t part of the school’s plan at first, but circumstances changed, the buildings were constructed, completed, and opened to the students in plenty of time for the holiday season.
Meaning that during my daily check-ins with them, just to see how they’re settling in, it shouldn’t be a surprise to see a tree. And tinsel. And hear distinctly Christmas music playing through speakers I didn’t realize the dorm had, because the music is everywhere, you can’t escape it, it’s even in the bathroom and it’s enough to drive anyone crazy. The smell of gingerbread isn’t too horrendous, in comparison to how atrociously overdone everything else is. It’s only a week after Thanksgiving, and they’ve already pulled out all the stops. Considering the families some of these kids come from, and the bank accounts, I shouldn’t be surprised at how detailed and professionally done it all is. They probably hired someone to decorate, I wouldn’t put it past them.
They invite me to visit the dorm a week before Christmas, to celebrate with them. They’ll all be heading home for the actual holiday, thank goodness, but evidently they plan on doing a party/gift exchange. My partner and kids are even invited, which’ll be nice, since my kids are already friends with some of my students, the youngest having bonded by chance before I was able to adopt her, and the oldest having been forced into friendship by some of the more outwardly expressive kids.
My partner loves Christmas, but he always keeps things on the down-low for my sake, giving presents randomly throughout the year and saying “Happy Holidays” or “Happy Birthday,” even though it’s nowhere near either. We never get a tree, which saves on money and electricity, and we don’t even have a box of decorations cluttering up our garage space. Not that we even have any garage space left, ever since my husband turned it into his own personal recording studio, as if he doesn’t already have one at work, apparently he needs to have one at home too.
Anything holiday related is banned from my class, aside from discussion about it, so it’s no wonder that for most of the month of December I constantly hear pieces of conversation about presents and party planning. What I don’t expect to hear is “I’ve never really celebrated before.” I pause in handing back their graded homework (most of them barely scored in the 70s, but they’re improving) to listen in for a moment.
“My family can’t afford all the decorations and gifts and everything, so we’ve never really been able to celebrate. Sometimes my dad would bring home a tree a couple days after Christmas, one that someone just tossed out after the 25th, and we’d make paper snowflakes and stars to decorate it with.
“My favorite part was when we actually had gifts. Usually they’d just be clothes wrapped in newspaper, but it was always super special, and my family would actually hang out together a bit, which we don’t get to do very often!”
“That’s so sad-”
“Yeah, cry me a river. What’d you get?”
“A 72. You?”
“Ha! 76. You’re an idiot.”
“Hey, it’s Christmas!”
“Not yet, stupid, it’s only December 14th.”
Ignoring the slight bullying that ensues, I move on, not realizing until later, when I’m alone in the teacher lounge, 4 coffees into the day, that my daughter had never had a real Christmas either. Her foster parent, before my husband and I adopted her, wasn’t exactly a nice person, and he definitely didn’t seem like the type to celebrate the holidays and spoil her rotten, like she deserves to be.
So, maybe, for once, it would be alright to celebrate the holidays.
My husband looks ridiculous in his Santa costume. Our son refused the elf costume he tried to force him into, and I absolutely cannot blame him. Not only is it just overall atrocious, but the green/red/white combo would totally clash with his purple hair (he’s going through his emo phase, my husband says he looks just like how I did when we were students). Our daughter, on the other hand, looks way too adorable for her own good, dressed in a little Santa costume of her own, dress and all. I opt for exactly what I wear every day. I may be giving in to celebrating (just a little), but that does not mean I’m willing to wear so much as an ugly sweater. Even for warmth. The one my husband pulled out earlier almost made me run out of the house.
We get to the dorms a little later than intended, our daughter having needed extra time to prepare. The second we step in, I groan, realizing my students are all dressed in matching green and red costumes. My son steps away, disappearing as fast as he can, before any of the loudmouth kids realize he’s there (I know he has a crush on the blond, he’s just not willing to admit it yet).
My students see my daughter and rush over, cooing over her costume and how adorable she is. She’s only six, but I get the feeling that she’s going to be friends with some of the high-schoolers long into the future, some of them having stepped in as pseudo-siblings. It isn’t often that a class feels like a family, but after everything that’s happened this year, it’s difficult not to see it that way.
Frozen by the attention, my daughter turns to me, and I crouch down beside her to be a reassuring presence. She turns back to the students now surrounding her and tilts her head, Santa hat almost slipping off.
“Trick or treat?”
There’s laughter in response, as I gently tell her that’s the wrong holiday. Before I can tell her what she’s supposed to say, she steps forward, throwing rice out of her pockets like it’s a wedding, and handing Easter eggs to one of the students. I guess that’s why we were late.
Leaning over to my husband before he can head off to track down our son, I ask him, “Where’d she get the stuff to decorate those eggs?”
He grins in response. “We got a kid who deserves celebration now, babe. I got all the stuff. She’s gonna love next year.”
“And where do you plan on storing all the stuff you got?”
“Great question, and one we’ll talk about later! Hey, what’s up listener, did you tune into my radio show last night?” And I’ve lost him.
I stay in the background for most of the party, my son eventually joining me in leaning against the wall as we watch his sister dig into some cookies and my partner do karaoke with a couple kids. It’s loud, chaotic, and so festive I wanna go bury myself face down in snow. But the smiles I see everywhere I turn make it… worth it.