Life Lessons with Career Day and Santa

We had Career Day last week.  That is a story unto itself, but one moment comes to mind today.  An owner of a hair salon was speaking to my class about her job.  She was stylish and smartly dressed.  She told the kids that she felt like she never had to work, because she loved what she did so much.

So, did they have any questions?

(Of course, they did.)

Geneva: How much money do you make?

Me:  Whoa!!! Whoa!!!

Nice lady: I make enough money to make me happy.

(Wow! Nicely handled... are you sure you aren't a teacher?) Me: Okay, class, life lessons time.  Turn your body towards me.  Listen up.  Nobody did anything wrong, because I didn't explain this earlier, but you need to understand that it is very impolite to ask someone how much money they make.  The same way it's inappropriate to call someone "poor" or say someone else is "rich."  Okay?

Class:  murmurs... mumbles... okay... (whispers of how much does she make? followed by my death glare)... more mumbling...

Nice lady:  nods along and smiles

Me (sensing generalized confusion): Guys, impolite means that it's rude.  You know how our class has rules?  Well, there are some rules in life, too, and one of the rules is that we don't talk about how much money people have unless we are family or very close friends.

Class: (light bulb!)

Geneva (raises her hand and the Nice Lady calls on her): So, where did you get your earrings?

Fast forward to dismissal a few days later.  A heated debate breaks out in my classroom about whether or not Santa is a real person.  The kids are packing up and stacking chairs and in a hurry to get out and go home.  They are also in an emotional tizzy, because a few of them have not contemplated that Santa might be fictitious.  Compounded with the pressure to make a hard nosed point and resolve this critical issue, voices are rising and the argument is reaching critical mass.

I start to worry that they are going to ask me what I think.  We have been instructed to change the subject if asked about the plausibility of Santa.  Since teachers are authority figures, it's illegal for us to share our opinion on the matter.  (I start going through my head of possible answers to the question and settle on: The school district has contacted Santa, I'm not sure if it was a real or fake Santa, but he was asked not to come to school.  He's too big of a distraction from learning.  [big cheesy smile])  Luckily it didn't come to that, because the kids were taking matters into their own hands.

Santa Claus is NOT REAL!  (Geneva is emphatic.)  He is just a rich man that passes out gifts to everyone!

A hush falls over the room.  For a moment I am stunned.  What just happened?

RoseMary looks at me with wide eyes.  I notice that most of the kids are looking at me with similar expressions.

You can't say that word.  She almost inaudibly whispers to Geneva.

What word?

(I admonish myself silently.  I don't remember having the Santa talk with them.  In fact, I thought it was just me that couldn't say Santa.  Dang, this whole Christmas thing has gone too far...  now even the kids are paranoid.... no wonder my principal is in knots about this stuff.)

Rich.  You can't say rich.

Yeah!  You can't say that, Geneva!  That's impolite!  It's not nice to talk about how much money Santa has!  (Several kids hop on this band wagon and start pointing.)

Ever the diplomat, Geneva knows that she has lost this battle.

Okay, okay!  You know what I mean... He's just got a lot of stuff....

I have to turn and face the window.

Life lesson: Don't laugh at children that are trying hard to be respectful good people, even when they are FUCKING HYSTERICAL!!!!

Merry Effin' Christmas!

When I was a kid, my elementary school had a little "Elf Store" where the students could go and shop for gifts for their parents.  I remember that I bought my parents an enormous clay ash tray.  There's a pretty good chance that they still have it around just for when "smoking" guests come to the house.  It was a thoughtful gesture to say the least.

I have a Rudolph plaque on my living room wall that my entire 4th grade class signed the year that I moved over the holidays.  My tree has a play dough ornament lovingly sculpted and gingerly painted by yours truly with my name puffily written on the back every year from 1983 to 1988.  

I love them.  I used to take them for granted, but now, I know.  Unless, you go to a private Christian school, Christmas is a thing of the past or whatever you make of it at home.  It's practically a dirty word at school.  My poor principal.  She is a good woman.  You can just tell.  She wants to do a good job.  The pressure is on her, just like it is everyone else. 

It's funny what issues bring to light that your boss is in the same boat as everyone else: "the don't let me lose my job over something stupid boat."  Our principal is FREAKED OUT over Christmas.  We can't say, "Merry Christmas" unless a kid or parent says it first.  No Santa, no Rudolph, no Christmas trees, and no red and green anything together.  

Also, no candy, and especially no candy canes.  So, lots of no, no, no, no, no!  I'm wondering what horror story she heard that made her paranoid enough to ban Santa.  I think it's sad that we can't dive into the holiday spirit the way of yesteryear.  I don't need to go out and baptize the kids, but it would be cool to read "The Night Before Christmas" or "The Grinch."  

I know that she is just looking out for all of us.  I know that there probably is some parent lurking around our campus just dying to pounce on some poor unsuspecting teacher.  It makes me breathe a sigh of relief that I held back the other day when counseling a student that I really wanted to witness to. And I'm not an evangelical. 

I believe in God and Jesus and the resurrection, but I don't really get all in your business about it.  I mean, I barely get myself to church a few times a year, so I'm not one to talk.  But on occasion, I do feel compelled to tell a kid that God loves them and will always be there for them.   I've managed to say this metaphorically and never directly thus far.

This year I am particularly glad that I've never crossed that fine line between "positive emotional influence" and "spiritual/religious guidance."  It's just too scary when you have a little baby who is counting on you to take care of her to risk it.  But it feels like a betrayal of my beliefs somehow and I kind of hate myself for that.  How do I love the separation of church and state and despise it all at once?  

Maybe three or four seasons ago, my sister and I went and did some gift shopping at the mall together just a week or two before Christmas.  We had the most difficult time finding a place to park, when finally we spotted a car backing out right in front of us.  We put our blinker on "left."  The car backed out towards us and another car zipped into our spot.  We looked at each other... a mixture of shock, horror, and distain on our faces.  We were caught in a mix of traffic standstill and watched as some class A asshole took our spot and began to walk inside the mall.

My sister reached over me and honked the horn.  She rolled down the window and climbed halfway out stretching over my body with her arm extended and her middle finger shooting straight up in the air, the rest perfectly coiled at attention. 

"Merry Fuckin' Christmas!!!" 

The parking offender barely turned his head sideways, but I think he did flinch.  

"Yeah!" I said.  "Merry Fuckin' Christmas!!!"

Just then, my sis pointed to a spot that was open.  A car had just backed out and we had just a split second to pull in before some sucker who was patiently waiting with his blinker on... I looked at my sister.  She looked at me.  

We parked and giggled the whole way into the mall hoping that nobody keyed our car.  I don't think we got the bird, but I didn't look back.  I suppose I shouldn't look back now, either.  Christmas just ain't what it used to be...