Home for Christmas

Thanksgiving was very unorthodox this year. I worked. I made a big chunk of money, but it was still work. Regular customers came in with their families or on their way to see families. Coworkers bundled up and headed out into the cold to make it to dinner on time. And people from out of town stopped in for a hot chocolate or a cup of tea for their after dinner treat. I served coffee and smiled and assured everyone it was okay that I was working, after all I volunteered to. But secretly, I missed my family and felt a little sorry for myself.

After work, me and my friend who closed the store with me drove around town looking for an open restaurant. We were hungry and tired and wishing for someone to wait on us for once. We finally found an open diner. As we commiserated over cheeseburgers and Cokes, I thought about my parents when they were my age, with two little ones living in a trailer park and saving what they could for a better home, a better life. I felt disgusted with my bad attitude and thankful to be sitting there with my good friend sharing a warm meal, however unconventional.

I was never one for holidays. My family usually has me dreading them. Maybe it’s being so far from them now, maybe it’s because I’m figuring out that the hard parts of life never really let up, but this time around it’s different. I’m looking forward to Christmas.


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