I dig out the plastic tree from the closet, adorn it with bows and ornaments, and place it on top of the cubbies.
Each year I ask a different student to make a temporary tree-topper, stars or angels or one year, a Pokemon. I scatter a few snowmen around the room, despite the fact that few of my students have ever seen snow and that it’s entirely possible that December will boast the same sunny weather that San Diego enjoys all year long.
The room looks festive enough to acknowledge Christmas, but not so colorful that students will be distracted for the next two weeks.
Now only a few holiday obstacles remain. Before winter break, we need to memorize a song for the Christmas program. Despite being artistically challenged, I have to design a cute, inexpensive gift that students can make for their parents or guardians, preferably one that doesn’t involve glitter. I have my finger on the economic pulse of the class, trying to determine if a student gift exchange would be an undue burden.
All of this pales in comparison to the largest problem I face in December: what to do about Santa Claus.
Fifth graders are a mixed bunch. The youngest have just turned ten years old; the oldest are already 12. Students who have social media accounts see the world through different eyes than the children who surreptitiously play with little Lego men inside their desks when they think I’m not looking. The classroom is a melting pot of children and preteens, puberty and baby teeth.
Inevitably, amid the chatter about gift wish lists and holiday songs and Christmas dinners, the subject of Santa Claus comes up for debate. In my opinion, Santa Claus, like God and where babies come from, are topics best left to parents to discuss. It’s impossible to keep any of them out of recess conversation, however, and predictably, I get hit with a barrage of questions.
“Teacher, is Santa Claus real?”
I hate this question. Of course I hate this question. I want so badly for my students to believe in a world in which a kindly old gentleman brings them the desires of their hearts just because they are so very good.
And yet I know the reality of their tiny universes is often harsh. Each school year there are children whose only Christmas presents come from Toys For Tots or Shop With a Cop. Those are the little ones who most wish Santa Claus were real, and those most likely to understand at an early age that he is not. They tend to be the gentle ones, however, especially if they have younger brothers or sisters.
Despite their understanding that Christmas gifts come from charitable organizations, they protect the dream for others.
In direct contrast to the tough gentle kids, in each 5th grade classroom there is at least one loud, bossy, know-it-all who believes it is her duty to inform everyone that Santa Claus is not real. Raising her pointer finger, she loudly proclaims, “It’s your mom and dad, obviously. There’s no way anyone could travel the whole world in one night. In a sleigh? Seriously?”
Knowledge is power, she knows, and she takes glee in the crestfallen faces of her classmates as they ponder the truth of her words.
They turn to me, the arbiter of truth. “Teacher, is Santa Claus real?”
I hesitate. I always hesitate. After 30 years of teaching and a few children of my own, I should have a good answer for children on the cusp of adolescence. I briefly consider the overused trope, “If you don’t believe, you don’t receive,” but cast it aside, knowing that some of them won’t receive no matter how fervently they believe.
Perhaps “Santa Claus exists in all of us; it’s the good and generous part of us that wants to give to others” will work? No, that’s less believable than a chubby benevolent elf who drives a sleigh pulled by reindeer through the sky.
I explain to students pretending to be mature and cynical, yet still wanting to believe, that Santa Claus, also known as St. Nicholas, was a real historical figure, famous for giving gifts to children. “Absolutely believe in him,” I reassure them. “He was real.”
If pressed, I avoid answering directly. “Well…” I hedge, “I’ve never actually seen him. But I’m going to leave a glass of milk and a plate of cookies out on Christmas Eve anyway, just in case.” This softens the mood somewhat; true believers, pretenders, and absolute cynics generally agree on the benefits of milk and cookies. If Santa Claus doesn’t touch them, they’ll make a great Christmas morning breakfast for a hungry 5th grader.
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing the crisis is averted until next December.
