The room was festooned with garlands and tinsel. Pinecones and sprigs of holly were taped to the walls, and a foamy blanket of fake snow covered the teacher’s desk. On the chalkboard was a crude drawing of a late-model SUV, along with some dollar signs and percentages.

Scott took it all in as he followed his son’s teacher, Mr. Thomas, into the fourth-grade classroom. With the fall semester winding down, it was time for a parent-teacher conference with the man his 9-year-old had described as “the best teacher EVER.” Scott had been to several of these meetings in the past—they mostly concerned grades, behavior, and homework performance. But this time there was something else on his mind.

Mr. Thomas invited him to take a seat in front of his snowy desk, which Scott did with some difficulty, settling into a chair made for a child.

“Mr. Baldwin, I’ve been eager to speak with you about Cody’s first semester of fourth grade,” Mr. Thomas began. “You’ve got a really bright son.”

“Thank you. We certainly think so.”

“Yes, he’s a curious little sprat if ever there was one. Eager to learn. Their minds are like sponges at this age.”

Scott’s eyes drifted to a miniature Christmas tree sitting on a nearby table. An ornament featuring Santa Claus driving a Japanese-style sports car hung on a sagging branch.

“Listen, Mr. Thomas,” said Scott. “Cody’s always been a good student. I’d be surprised to learn of a problem in that department. But I was hoping to talk to you about something that happened with him at home. Something I think you may be able to help me understand.”

“Oh? I’ll try my best.”

Scott took off his baseball hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Well, he came home from school last week and asked my wife and I if we could drive down to Orange County over the weekend to visit a Honda dealership.”

Mr. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“He said he wanted to see the Happy Honda-Days Year-End Sales Event. As you can imagine, Mr. Thomas, we were mortified. My wife was so upset she went to the guest room and cried until the kids were asleep.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mr. Thomas.

“And when I asked Cody why he was curious about this particular sales event, he said he learned about it from you—right here in this classroom. Which is a problem, Mr. Thomas, because in our family we proudly celebrate the Toyotathon December to Remember Holiday Sales Event.”

Mr. Thomas removed his glasses, folded them, and tucked them into his shirt pocket with a heavy sigh. He understood now where this was all going.

“When I was a boy, Mr. Thomas, my father would pile us all in the ’82 Previa and drive us to a dealership in San Bernardino to look at the low-low prices on Celicas and Corollas. Those are cherished holiday memories in my family. And this year we were going to honor that tradition by taking Cody to Farraday Toyota in Burbank to look at the all-new Crew Cab Tundra with heated seats and four-wheel drive. It’s available for 0% down and 0% APR for 36 months for qualified buyers.”

“Mr. Baldwin,” the teacher cut in, “I think I understand your concern. You think that I’ve been teaching the children—evangelizing to them—about the Happy Honda-Days Year-End Sales Event. That I’m somehow abusing my position as an educator to lure students away from the beloved traditions of their families and homes. Is that the gist of it?”

Mr. Baldwin shifted in his minuscule seat. It creaked beneath his weight. “I… well, that’s a blunt way to put it, but yes. Look, I understand not everyone celebrates the Toyotathon December to Remember, but it seems like school is hardly the place to be pushing alternative sales events on children.”

“I agree completely.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Thomas. “Because that’s not what I’ve been doing. All my students are welcome to celebrate this special time of year however they like. I encourage an open exchange of ideas in this classroom, Mr. Baldwin. Why, little Patricia Wang did a whole report on how her family celebrates Seasons of Subaru at Mandalay Hyundai and Subaru of Thousand Oaks. She read it for the whole class last week, and I have to say it was a hit.”

Scott eyed the Santa-in-a-sports-car ornament hanging from the nearby Christmas tree. “But my son isn’t interested in Subarus right now. Say, that ornament over there, that’s Santa in a Honda S2000 coupe, isn’t it?”

Mr. Thomas’s eyes flicked to the tree.

“You gonna tell me little Patricia Wang brought that in here?”

“I… may have brought a few items from home to decorate the classroom, bu—”

“And that SUV on the chalkboard? That’s a Honda CR-V, right?”

“Mr. Baldwin, really I—”

“What do you celebrate, Mr. Thomas? In your personal life? I have a right to know who’s teaching my son.”

The men exchanged a tense stare.

Finally, Mr. Thomas stood up, smoothed his tie hand-over-hand, and declared “if you must know, Mr. Baldwin, I celebrate the Happy Honda-Days Year-End Sales Event. Yes, it’s true. And I am not ashamed. Every year since I was a boy, I’ve gone to see the deals on offer from America’s fourth most reliable automaker. Why, just this year alone you can lease an all-new 2026 Honda Civic for only $299 a month, and that includes an eight-month trial of Sirius-XM satellite radio. And if you’re in the market for used, qualified buyers can take advantage of Honda’s Certified Pre-Owned program to get seasonal deals on low-mileage Accords, Odysseys, and Pilots.”

“Listen, you son of a bitch,” said Scott, shooting up from his seat and pointing a trembling finger at his son’s teacher from across the desk. “I understand it’s a free country and you can shop wherever you want. But you keep that Happy Honda horseshit away from my boy, do you hear me? Or it’s going to be you who has a December to Remember this year.”

Mr. Thomas sneered. “Is that a threat?”

“Just stop talking to my boy about Honda-Days. That’s the last time I’m gonna say it.”

Scott put his cap back on his head and turned to leave.

“He’s a curious boy,” said Mr. Thomas in a melodic tenor just as he reached the door. “Such an apt pupil. No doubt his curiosity will take him far come the spring semester.”

Scott stopped, hand on doorknob, knuckles turning white. Then he thought better of it.

In the hall was a large man—clearly some other child’s parent. He had a bushy beard and leathery, sun-damaged skin. He was chewing a wad of tobacco, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Scott noticed he was wearing a t-shirt with a “Chevrolet” logo on it.

Their eyes met, and after a moment, Scott spoke.

“Merry Christmas.”

He turned and began the long walk back to his Tacoma.

————

Sean Cahill is based in Los Angeles and writes literary and speculative fiction. His recent work can be found in Unlikely Stories, The Morgue, and Belladonna’s Garden, and is forthcoming in the 2026 anthology I Haven’t Made It Home Yet from PWU Press. You can find him on Instagram @SeanyCWrites.