Found today

I've been cleaning out my room the past few days--throwing out a lot, reading some of the things I've done and saved, looking at a great many pictures--and somehow found this poem in the middle of my elementary school parent handbook. I don't know why I had that handbook still in the massive box in my room, nor do I know why I even opened it up, but I liked this poem, and I think it really reflects the truth about education.

Education is something that is very important to me--that was the committee I fought for in the Boys' State Senate, and the bill that I spent all my time writing and trying to get passed was for increased funding for twice-gifted students (those identified as both Gifted and Talented, and with special needs). I was active in speaking before our school board, and served as a student advisor for the G/T program. I think that investing in our future should absolutely be one of our highest priorities, both at home and in school. That, I think, is why I want to end up being a teacher more than anything. Really, I want to have all those life experiences I always talk about so I have a well of things to draw on in my teaching and parenting career when I tell stories, show souvenirs that I have gathered, and even invite the friends and neighbors that I have met through the years to come speak or write letters to the class (or, even come on the show). I really feel like I can be one of those people who pours their heart and soul into it, so that hopefully, I can have some sort of positive impact on the future. I know that I've had some of those teachers (probably more than my share), and I want to give back just a little of what they've given me.

I dreamed I stood in a studio
And watched two sculptors there.
The clay they used was a young child's mind.
And they fashioned it with care.

One was a teacher - the tools she used
Were book, music, and art.
The other, a parent, worked with a guiding hand
And a gentle, loving heart.

Day after day, the teacher toiled with touch
That was careful, deft, and sure.
While the parent labored by his side
And polished and smothered it o'er.

And when at last their work was done
They were proud of what they had wrought.
For the things they had molded into the child
Could neither be sold nor bought.

And each agreed they would have failed
If each had worked alone.
For behind the parent stood the school
And behind the teacher, the home.

-Author Unknown

Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?

I've always identified with Charlie Brown a great deal (perhaps almost too closely). I can't ever seem to kick the football, flying a kite ends in guaranteed disaster, and I'm constantly and consistently confused by the world we live in. Just like Sparky, I ever-so-slightly don't fit into the prevailing wisdom, and I don't really "get" what everybody else seems to feel about everything. And just like Charlie Brown, every year I seem to find myself questioning what we're really doing, what every one is thinking, and what seems to be wrong with me. Fortunately, also like Charlie Brown I have a good friend in Linus van Pelt to remind me not only of what the true meaning of Christmas is, but also the true meaning of every other day all year round:

And there were in that same country shepherds,
abiding in the field, and keeping watch over their flock by night.
And lo, an angel of the Lord came upon them,
and the glory of the Lord shone round about them,
and they were sore afraid.
Then the angel said unto them, 'Fear not!
For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day, in the city of David,
a Savior,
'tis Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you:
you shall find the Babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.'

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host,
praising God and saying:
'Glory to God in the highest!
And on Earth,
peace and goodwill toward men!'
-Luke 2:8-15

That's the real meaning of Christmas.

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

In September of 1897, Viginia O'Hanlon, then but eight years old was told by some of her less fortunate friends, that Santa Claus does not exist. There was a tradition in her house at the time that if anything came up that her family did not know the answer to, they would write to her parents' favorite newspaper, the now defunct New York Sun. So, in true O'Hanlon fashion, Virginia wrote to the editor of the paper to ask him.

Little did she know that her question would find its way to the desk of Francis P. Church, one of the newsroom's leading cynics who had covered the Civil War for the New York Times and was now writing anonymous editorials for the Sun. He was the one the editor-in-chief went to to tackle controversial topics, especially about religion and theology. Now, he had perhaps the most controversial topic he would ever cover, not necessarily because of the situation of the day, but because of the audience he was replying to. That is, there were no politicians or pressmen creating this controversy; no protests or petitions; no money or fame or reputation involved. Most adults and serious people in the world didn't even consider it a real question worth answering. However, one person did. One person thought it was the most important question in the world, and Church, therefore had an awesome responsibility to write the truth the best that he knew how. Because the feelings, the knowledge, and the entire world-view of one open-minded little girl (and little did he know, generations to follow her) depended on his answer. I, for one, think he did an excellent job.

Here is my favorite piece to ever appear in a newspaper--nothing is made bold or emphasized because every word and phrase is important and means something very significant:
(By the way, "supernal"--the word Church chose to describe the world beyond the veil--means heavenly.)

Dear editor:
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in the Sun it's so."
Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West 95th Street
New York City

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except (what) they see. They think nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is not a sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Do you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's not proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real?

Ah, Virginia, in all the world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God, he lives and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
* * * * *
Interesting. As I typed in that last paragraph, "For You" by John Denver started playing on iTunes. An amazing sense of timing as always.