12/26/2023 0 Comments Montessori music shelf![]() It arose out of a combination of Christian and Pagan customs and stories. “The tradition of Christmas has a long history by the way. They give each other presents, too, because giving is something that makes us human beings feel good.” They give you presents every year just to experience the joy of seeing your face light up. With the money they earn from working, they buy things that they know you’ll like, wrap them up, and put them under the tree at Christmas time. “To express this incredible love they have for you, they work very hard to provide for you. To them, you are the most precious person in the world.” They know you very well, because they have raised you from the time you were born. “Or,” I continued, working hard to maintain a measured and flat tone, “You have parents who love you. Here, I had to take a breath, ignoring the children’s cries of, “What if you live in an apartment?” and “How does he get in if your chimney is broken?” and “Does he deliver presents to igloos?” After he delivers the gifts, he wiggles his nose and goes back up the chimney again.” In a period of 24 hours, he travels to every household, lands on the roof, and slides down the chimneys, placing the presents under every tree, including yours. “Every Christmas Eve,” I went on, “he loads a giant sack full of all of the presents and all of the coal onto a magical flying sleigh driven by eight magical flying reindeer. He watches you all year long and if you behave badly, he either deprives you of presents, or gives you a lump of coal.” This man somehow knows everything about you, including not only what you want, but even how you’ve behaved during the year. In a very neutral tone, with not an ounce of mockery or sarcasm, I said, "Which is more likely? A large, jolly old man who lives in the north pole and employs an army of tiny elves makes, by hand, all of the presents for all of the children in the world (whose families don’t adhere to religions that practice other gift-giving traditions). Should I tell Christian the truth, that Santa Claus doesn’t exist-at least, there is no good argument or evidence for the existence of Santa Claus-or should I tell him what his parents have probably let him believe: that Santa brings him his presents? "Mister Michael,” he began-our school insisted the children mix the formal with the familiar as a compromise between the more formal-minded French teachers who wanted titles, and the Montessori teachers who wanted to be on a first-name basis with the children- “Who is it that brings me my presents at Christmas, my parents, or Santa Claus?” ![]() My head swam with dream images of smudgy bulls and horses rubbed into stone by hairy and calloused prehistoric fingers, when Christian interrupted my reverie with a question. We were headed homeward from a class trip visiting the Lascaux caves in central France. The late afternoon sun poured honey-like into the moquette seats on our side of the bus, making the children, my colleague, and I, feel lethargic and drowsy. ![]() Out the window of the bus, the French countryside swished by. “A clever person has all the right answers.
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