“What is Christmas really about?” I ask my students as they stuff themselves into their coats and gloves in anticipation of the afternoon bell marking the start of winter break.
“Presents!” they shout in unison.
Every year I ask this question. Every year the response is the same.
I want to shake my head and say, “No, you’re wrong.” But it will only lead to angry complaints from parents, my swift firing with enough time to find a replacement before the children return in January, and my eventual exile from ever teaching in a Florida elementary school again. All because I suggested that a person more significant, and definitely less imaginary, than Santa Claus could be the true reason why we celebrate this increasingly commercialized winter holiday.
Instead, as the bell rings, I tell them over their shrieks and scurrying feet as they stampede for the door. “Remember to show love and kindness to others this holiday season. And most important of all, it is more blessed to give than to receive!”
I fear I may be admonished for using the word “blessed.” Funny how our politicians pick and choose what they want to be religious about. But I doubt the students have heard anything. They’re too excited to be out of school, to play in the snow, to bake cookies and decorate trees, to write their Christmas wishlists to Santa and be on their best behavior so they get everything they want.
As for me, it’s another Christmas alone with my naked tree and unanswered prayers that God will send a man I can make Christmas memories with.
I suppose I’m no better than my students.
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