Christmas Story Part 2: A very Hector Flores Christmas

Against all odds, the Fung Wah delivered me in one piece (albeit with a small bleeding spot on my scalp). Yes, I am a hero.

I go from solo traveler to someone enveloped in a family. Red shows up with her dad, and I’m told a story that I immediately know will change my life: the ballad of Hector Flores. It must’ve been like shepherds hearing about a babe in a manger.

Red (who works at an elementary school, by the way) was in a meeting about a first grader having trouble. The obligatory 100-year-old kindergarten teacher/town buttinski leans over the table and confides, “Well that’s no surprise, you know who his father is, don’t you? Hector Flores” in a tone meant to make everyone gasp “Not THE Hector Flores?”

Apparently he’s the town’s simpleton Lothario (my new favorite phrase) and has, as Red put it, been kind enough to contribute to the town’s elementary school population boom. All with academic trouble, none with the last name Flores. (Hector is a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy. He doesn’t leave his mark.)

Hector popped up repeatedly through the weekend. He generously brought Red’s mom several gifts, leaving the sign of the H on the tags, not unlike Zorro.

Red’s an only child, and her parents took me in as one of their own. (In a bit of corporate humbuggery, I couldn’t get paid this week unless I was at my desk, even though the office is technically closed. There’s no work to do today, so I may post several times.)

Her mom made me a welcome basket with cookies, Cape Cod shell candy and other goodies. That was more than enough treats for me, but they also got me Christmas presents and filled a stocking. I was speechless.

I also got to meet their neighbors. Red was explaining that the mom is “a young 40,” and “gives us all hope about getting older.” But I still wasn’t prepared for my introduction to her being her standing on her couch, conducting with wooden spoons.

Red’s mom and dad are the 7 and 8 year old kids’ godparents, and they literally had to drive their SUV across the street with gifts because it was more than four people could carry. For the next hour, the kids opened presents while we drank wine and ate cheese and crackers. They were the perfect kids, totally grateful and excited about the gifts without being insanely wild. At one point, the daughter opened up a soft sweater and hugged it saying “It’s beautiful and just what I always wanted” before trailing off into a blissful sigh. It’s fun to have rent-a-kids for the holidays. You need someone in the house to sprinkle reindeer food, track the sleigh and be fully prepared to hop into bed early because your babysitter has threatened to call Santa.

In addition to drinking my body weight in mulled cider and lighting luminaries I also got the pleasure of meeting her mom’s old friend Bonnie, one of those people who—instead of just nodding politely while someone tells a story—confronts them with, “What do you mean? Why is that funny?” Good times, Bon. Glad you came out.

We watched “White Christmas,” from like the ’50s, which was pleasant enough, but the real fun came at the end, when star of the silver screen Rosemary Clooney decided to share the most passive aggressive memories about her costars. Among the gems:

“She was the dearest friend. We traded Christmas cards for years until my list got to be over 600 people. It was just too long. I still think of her fondly though.”
Red yells out from the back: “Did she just say she bumped someone from the Christmas card list?”

“We were supposed to perform for the king of Greece, but when Bing found out he went ‘Not me’ and hopped the fence to go golfing, leaving us all lip-synching.”

“I remember there was one line in the song that Bert loved, and he’d sing it really loudly. I’ll never forget that line, it was just so funny to hear him sing it so loud….anyway….” (goes on to another anecdote.) Red: “What was the line, Ro?”

I may have to be at work, not working, this week, but I’ve come back refreshed, stuffed from good food, sore from laughing and restocked with a year’s supply of lotion. And, as with my night with Hector Flores, I’ll always remember it fondly.