A Christmas Memory by Max Vos Page A

than any in the past eight years. This was the first year of my teaching career as a high school history teacher. Previously, I'd always worked during the holidays, since I was paying my way through school, so I was always too busy to think about it too much. This year, however, I was going to have eighteen days off in a row, with nothing to occupy my time.
    Friday being the last day of school for this calendar year, the conversation during lunch at the teacher's table revolved around nothing but the upcoming holiday break. I was so sick of hearing about it that I thought at any moment I would jump up and pull my hair out as I ran screaming from the building. That was until Coach Sutton sat down right across from me, making my mouth go dry. For some strange reason, he’d taken to sitting with me, or at least in the same vicinity as me, during lunch.
    Coach was a bit of a hero around here, having taken the football team all the way to the state finals. They didn't win, but getting there was good enough for those around here, or so it seemed. He was also one of those outgoing, gregarious types, who seemed to draw everyone to them. It didn’t hurt that he was a young Tom Selleck look-a-like. The women swooned, and the men would be all buddy-buddy, high-fiving him while talking about what a fantastic season he’d had and what next year might bring. I had to admit that I myself had an internal love/hate thing going on for the guy. What gay man would not be attracted by his masculine good looks? The chipper personality, success, and popularity made me envious, and yes, even a little jealous, and there lay part of the problem.
    He was part of that elite group that seemed to have it all, while people like me were always on the outside looking in, wishing they could be like that. It was like being back in high school, which, in essence, I was. It was a glum thought.
    “So, what about you, Jones?” Coach Sutton asked. He was one of those types that always called other guys by their last names.
    Startled out of my internal dialog, I realized Coach Sutton was speaking to me. I’d lost track of the conversation, successfully blocking it out for a change. “Pardon? What about me?”
    “Do you have big plans for the holidays?” he asked, a knowing grin on his face.
    Without thinking, somewhat stunned that this man would even care what I was doing, I blurted out, “No, I have no plans.” Quickly, I realized my mistake. I had learned long ago never to disclose that I didn’t have any family, or that I had no plans for Christmas. In the past, I’d always say ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’, which was true in a sense. My dorm room or my apartment was my home.
    My father walked out when I was four, not that I could blame him. My mother was a drunk and a prescription-drug addict, spending her days in such a stupor that I was surprised she even knew who I was half the time. Needless to say, being a welfare kid, with no father, and a shell of a human being for a mother, my childhood was not a Norman Rockwell painting.
    The most dreaded question for me was, “So…what is your favorite, or your most memorable Christmas?” Ugh. If I were being honest, I would have said I had none. Of course, no one wants to hear that, so my standard answer was "Oh, I have too many to count,” which was an outright lie. I hated the holidays.
    The second most dreaded question was, ‘What are your plans for the Holidays?’ The problem with admitting that you had no plans was that everyone else would feel sorry for you, and then try to include you in their family plans. There was nothing worse than to have a room full of people you don’t know, feeling sorry for you. It was always the same: the sensation of being a third wheel, and not quite fitting in. Looking around the table, I could see it coming, the do-gooders wanting to take care of the poor orphan.
    Mrs. Lewis, who taught English Literature, was the first one to start. “Do you not have any