The magic of the season comes alive

It comes without ribbons. It comes without tags. It comes without packages, boxes, or bags. There is doubt whatever about it. The days are shorter, the nights are longer. The calendar insists upon it. The year is coming to a close, and there is no place like a school for the magic of the season to come alive. There is no one like a child to make it real.

Some time ago the school calendar changed to end the first semester at Christmas Break rather than the traditional split of curriculum between December and the New Year. This is a wonderful design for a wonderful life at the New Year with a wonderful new semester. Yet, the outcome of this wonder only decks the halls full of pointed holly and a fa la la la.

Students and teachers gather like chestnuts roasting on an open fire as they work to either make up work, or assign work, or enter grades, or prevent failing grades. Tempers pop, brains fry, outer shells break and reveal everyone’s inner most emotions and weaknesses. It is a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older; and not a grade higher.

But on Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, on Vixen! Not all is lost in the mayhem because yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Grades become final; tears subside; smiles emerge in the hustle and bustle of the halls; gifts exchanged between lockers; shrieks of delight echo against the walls.

Away in the classrooms, all the papers are hung by the doorway with care. Not a tree is in sight, not a light to be lit. No mobiles by the ceiling, no fuzzy paint on the windows. Pray! Come all ye fire marshals, Christmas is safe with us.

Oh! The noise! Noise! Noise! From band concerts to choir concerts to caroling by the pairs. All the Who’s down in Whoville couldn’t sing as much as these! Children sing on their buses, in their lunchrooms, and on their cell phones. They sing for the needy, the homeless, the poor. They sing, and they sing, and they sing — until we just can’t take it any more.

Nothing compares nor should anyone dare to share the pain of our young Rudolph’s without anyone to play games with. They cry a little more than usual. They begin to push and shove in distress. They growl like Grinch, snarl like Scrooge, and they melt like Frosty as their dreidels spin out of control. The children of Want and Ignorance peer out from beneath the shadow Christmas Present’s hoody. Their vacant stares pierce our souls. We are most concerned with the one called ignorance. We know whose child this is. He is ours.

Pa rum pa pum pum. It comes without ribbons. It comes without tags. It comes without packages, boxes, or bags. There is no place like a school for the magic of the season to come alive. There is no one like a child to make it real.

Emily Forstner is a seventh-grade teacher at Wasilla Middle School.