Be bold enough to discover what others choose to deny.

When I was a little girl, I loved Christmas. I loved Christmas because of the tradition behind it. And if your last name ends in a vowel, you know I love the Italian tradition behind it. From as early as I remember, I would have my best dress picked out for Christmas Eve and a pair of pajamas for later evening. We went to my Aunt Terry and Uncle Hops' house with all my cousins - first, second, third, and then some (for my Italian readers, did you also not know your uncles' first names until your 20s?). 

After dinner, the cousins would change out of their Macy's ball gowns and button-downs into pajamas and wait for that knock on the door. It was, of all people, Santa, and I mean THE Santa (see picture below for proof). Every year, Santa would walk through that door and sit in my aunt and uncle's living room chair. 

The children would gather around him in excitement and awe, waiting their turn to ask the one question they had thought about all year. He told us about the North Pole, the reindeer, his favorite snacks, what happens when there is no chimney, and wishes he could make on the unique cane he carried with him. Then, one by one, Santa would take out a present with each of our names. We sat anxiously, waiting for the moment it was our turn to sit on his lap. 

Santa made each one of us feel valued. He looked at you like he knew you outside of this moment, and in our minds, he honestly had. A few minutes felt like a lifetime telling Santa about your school and the activities you were involved in, along with. one last wish you hoped to see under the Christmas tree. 

In the years that followed, cousins who once sat on his knees, their feet not yet able to touch the ground, stood firm next to him as they shared their endeavors in college or life after. Santa watched us grow as he gave us this experience year after year. It was truly magical. 

In 3rd grade, someone on the bus told me Santa wasn't real. Immediately, I told my parents, and they broke the news. I couldn't believe it like I could not, because I knew him - there was photographic evidence! And on top of that, I was not allowed to tell my younger cousins. The next day after school, I locked myself in my room and started writing about a world where Santa existed. 

About a week later, I resurfaced with my first book, Believe. The main character was a grumpy girl who argued with her brother, challenged her mom, and refused to volunteer anywhere around the holidays. Until one night, she was able to visit the North Pole herself. 

Are you getting Polar Express vibes already? Seeing the Polar Express heavily influenced my ideas, so I did not move forward with publishing (potential copyright issues). Either way, that grumpy girl soon recognized that Santa could exist in other ways, like how she loved her family or interacted with strangers. I could still bring an unfiltered joy to the world just like he had done for me. 

At eight years old, someone on the bus told me something so magical in my world no longer existed, and my parents, people I trusted, agreed with them. At eight years old, I said no and created a reality where that magic still existed. At eight years old, I learned one of many life lessons. Be bold enough to discover what others choose to deny. 

Now two decades later, I often think about the magic that can exist within a school building and the many expectations those schools create for children that often get in the way of that. As a teacher, this starts before they enter the building. We dissect every aspect of the day, thinking through pathways, systems, routines, and expectations that will ensure our classrooms function in a way that prioritizes learning. 

For example, students enter in the morning and put their homework in the blue basket by the filing cabinet. Then they take their laptops from the computer cart and remember to place their lunch in the bin. After that, they focus on eating their breakfast and completing a problem in their math workbook until the timer goes off. When I hold up a 1, they will stand, two, turn, and 3, walk to the carpet in under one minute. 

We precalculate every moment to meet the demands of a school day, but how often do we consider those we create it for, the students? 

The memory of school for our children has been masks, Zoom, and social distancing. This way of learning has been the only classroom experience for elementary-aged students. For example, teachers introduced the concept of school to some Kindergarteners through a Chromebook! 

Now, we can show our faces from under a mask, move the desks closer together, bring carpets back to our learning, and open the doors again. However, we also face the choice of returning to what was or creating what will be. 

As a teacher, I know what we did before was not working. And now, it appears as though schools are returning to that. Even worse, teacher shortages, classroom sizes, academic and social-emotional gaps - the list of school needs continue to increase. Needs present problems, and problems present opportunities. So, we also have a chance to create the concept of a school that centers on our students.

At eight years old, I said no and created a reality where that magic still existed. At 28 years old, I choose to be bold enough to discover what others choose to deny. Every day I decide to make a reality where the magic of school still exists for my students. What are other educators with me?